a missionary's wife
 
 

translated by Ingeborg Gorven from "Tante Marit : zulumisjonær og mor for tretten" by Alf Kjetil Igland.
Published  Oslo : Luther forl., 1977.  ISBN: 82-531-7209-5.

CONTENTS:

Foreword. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ………………. 7

An Ordinary Everyday Person, despite Everything . . . . . . . . . 9

The Early Call to Mission Work . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . …….. 24

The Mission School and the Departure. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44

In Joy and in Sorrow. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ………….. . 56

Malagasies Exchanged for Zulus. . . . . . . . . . …….. . . . . . . . 67

"......that sad calamity" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ……………. . . . . 80

A Letter of Proposal and Marriage . . . . . . . . . . . …….. . . . . 88

The Heavenly Nation. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ………… . . . . . . 99

Ritual Murder . . . . . . ……………. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109

Teaching Student Priests. . . . . . . . . ………… . . . . . . . . . . . 127

Invasion of Lian . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ……………. . . . . 132

Snake in the Trouser Leg. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ………... . . 139

Dancing-Steps around the Christmas Tree . . . . . . . . . . . … . 145

Faithful Members of the "Kvinneforening". . . . . . …. . . . . . . 149

"As the Horse was Stubborn" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ……….. 158

Home Remedies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . …………… . . . . . 171

Resourcefulness and Kindly Disposition . . . . . . . . . . ……. . 176

She Talked to the Lord. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . …………. . . . . . 183

Some Zulu Friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ………….. . . . . . 189

Without Property Rights . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ………... . . . . . 204

Towns in the Wake of the Mission. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ……. . 210

On Pension and in War-Time. . . . . . . ……... . . . . . . . . . . . . 216

At the Home of the "Ndlovukazi" . . . . . . . . ……. . . . . . . . . 228

A Full and Blessed Life . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . …………. . . . . 237
 
 

7.

FOREWORD:

This book has come into being mainly on the basis of long interviews and a comprehensive correspondence with Mrs. Marit Rödseth, together with research into her diaries and some personal notes she has made during the past few years. Since the narration in the whole book, except for the first chapter, is as from Mrs. Rödseth's own mouth, I have, because of a feeling of reverence for her, retained something of the older style of speech, which distinguishes people who had their schooling around the turn of the century. In other words, I have tried to retain the essentials of the words and expressions and the narrative style which it is natural for her to use.

There has been a conscious wish to keep politics out of this book. This is first and last a book about mission work. To produce penetrating analyses of the complicated South African society I am neither competent nor required to do; besides which, that would demand at least a whole book on its own. Mean while in the last chapter Mrs. Rödseth has given a brief appraisement of the racial situation in the country - as she sees it - for this question affects the Mission, both in practice and in principle, and can therefore not be excluded completely from a mission book about the homeland of the Zulus.

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I owe a debt of gratitude to many people for the writing of this book, not least to Mrs. Rödseth's closest relatives and the Norwegian mission-aries who placed themselves at my service, kindly and patiently during my stay in South Africa in the autumn (South African spring) of 1976. I mention no one by name, so that no one will be overlooked. All of them have earned my warmest thanks.

Alf K. Igland Stavanger, May 1977
 
 

9.
 
 
 
 
 
 

AN ORDINARY EVERYDAY PERSON, DESPITE EVERYTHING

A hot spring day in September, sun from a clear sky, a tail of reddish sanddust behind the little yellow stationwaggon. We are on roads on the outskirts of Zululand, unknown territory to a new arrival; for the other two in the driver's cab, an area as well known as the backs of their hands.

Here, with a vista over winter-brown Zululand valleys, where the first hint of spring-green grass can vaguely be seen through withered tufts and straw, mission history unrolls. In the course of Marit Rödseth's portrayal and sharing of memories, the past becomes the present, vague impressions from mission magazines and recently-returned missionaries become reliable realities. Here mission history can be touched and felt. Here Schreuder and the other pioneers laboured: here they built churches and institu-tions: here they preached the Word of God to "the heathen". And here Mrs. Rödseth herself has moved about for two generations, since 1916. Or to put it in a weightier way, right since the beginning of this century.

Innumerable are the details she remembers and the people she has known. In Zululand she is like a walking history-book. She has seen missionaries come and go, she has followed the native co-workers for decades, she has seen congregations grow in the midst of blackest heathendom. For her,

10.

Zululand has been "Home" for most of her 92-year-long life.

Marit Rödseth is a missionary's wife.

I am in fact not quite sure why I hesitate at this word "wife", the word can be misunderstood so easily in this connection. On the mission-field a spouse can so easily be regarded as a hanger-on, one who got there because she was married to a missionary. Certainly, many reached the mission-field for this reason, but not Mrs. Rödseth. When she travelled to Madagascar the year World War I began, it was in order to labour as a missionary in her own right. It is therefore one of the noteworthy

happenings in her life that she became the wife of a missionary - and in Zululand, to boot, a large stretch of ocean away from the island of the Malagasies.

God's thoughts are so often different from people's. (Isaiah 55:8). To her it was so wholly unthought of that she was to have her mission-work in a home or - it would be more correct to say - with the home as the starting-point.

It is about this work that this book will tell.

Her missionary life will not be presented as a well-drawn, glossy picture. Regarded soberly, she has not performed great feats; neither has she received great public honour and medals. It is not for that reason that she has set out to wander back in "the book of memories". Many missionary wives experienced a far more toilsome existence than Mrs. Rödseth did, where they struggled against tropical diseases and language barriers in the loneliest

11.

and most primitive conditions. There are quite a few missionary wives who are barely mentioned in the mission history, but who sacrificed both health and life in the service.

Mrs. Rödseth characterizes herself as an ordinary everyday person, and I leave it at that. Because we do not have to go so very far back in time in our own country (Norway) before we find families with 13 children who lived in considerably more difficult and straitened circumstances, than those Mrs. Rödseth was to experience on the KwaMondi Mission Station near the town of Eshowe in Zululand. It goes without saying that she had neither running water nor electricity while the family of children was growing up, but how long is it since we got them in Norway? And here there were certainly families with 13 children and more, to0. She also had the advantage that the climate was milder by far for most of the year, and in the garden things grow more readily and in far richer profusion than in the Old Country.

Neither has she ever complained!

All the same, the term "everyday person" is a little misleading, be-cause it judges all alike, we forget that we, everyday people, also have our distinctive stamp and peculiarities. In Mrs. Rödseth's case it is not least noteworthy that quite inadvertently she "tumbled" into a "ready-made family" with seven children, and that she surrounded it with just as much love and care as she lavished on the almost just as large increase in the family that she herself contributed.

"She was an excellent stepmother", as one of them expressed it, and I know that in this statement lie more admiration and sincerity than may appear at first glance. She was a stepmother

12.

who made no distinctions, nor makes them where grandchildren and greatgrandchildren are concerned. She is just as concerned about each one, remembers their birthdays and other special occasions.

In the meantime that large family is just one thing; her incredible hospitality quite another. "You could arrive and there could be twenty people at table, but she always found an extra chair and a cup", it is told. And where did she find beds for all the people who in the course of the years visited the station? This was during the time when South Africa was a "great" mission-field of the Norwegian Mission Society and corres-ponding organizations in America and Europe. KwaMondi was the very junc-tion on the Norwegian field. Regularly and steadily it was visited by Norwegian and foreign colleagues and a wide range of other people who had business with the Superintendent of the Mission, a position the missionary Pastor Peder Aage Rödseth held for eleven years. The guests came at such short intervals that the Superintendent noted it down in his diary when on a rare occasion there was no one visiting them.

In the school holidays the children brought friends home with them, and room was found for all. "The rooms were small", she recollects, smiling, "but so were the children". For the one whose attitude is right, there is always a solution.

Besides being responsible for keeping house for her family and all the guests, she also boarded a number of native boys. They were school-boys who lived so far away that they had to stay on the mission station to attend school. The natives eat mainly maize, a food which requires many hours' cooking. The stove had to be hot the whole

13.

morning. It was difficult to get sufficient dry firewood, so it sometimes happened that she was near to tears when it wouldn't burn and she thought of all those she had to feed.

In the bedrooms there were candles and in the living-rooms paraffin lamps. These lamps give good light, but they produce a good deal of heat, as well, for which there is not a particular need most of the year in Zululand. The evenings had to be utilised for handwork: there is always something to be sewn or repaired by the one who has a large family, and then it was hot under the paraffin-burner. If a letter had to be written, the writer had to put a piece of paper under the hand so that the sheet of writing-paper did not get soaked through.

Her husband and the native boys were responsible for the garden, even though it was not considered missionary work to do such a trivial thing. In the mean time it was necessary to make the best use of the existing possibilities to contribute to the daily board. Here were cultivated the dumbe, a root vegetable which by and large takes the place of potatoes, and vegetables of different kinds, and here they had fruit and berries.

To walk in the garden with Mrs. Rödseth affords a glorious blend of botanical and culinary knowledge. She points, for example, at the guava, a little round yellow fruit, and elaborates on all the possibilities for its use. It can be dried and used for snacks, it can be stewed, canned or made into the most delicious jam. And if I wish to taste it, it is good when eaten raw to0. And then there's the China guava, which makes delicious jelly, mulberries which are good for juice, loquats which resemble little yellow plums and are juicy and tasty. Excellent for jam-making.

14.

Added to these, all the fruit we know so well: bananas, oranges, pine-apples, lemons and avocado pears, the last-named, perhaps, not so common. Mrs. Rödseth assures us that even though they don't have much taste, they are excellent in fruit salads.

Berries there are, not least the large red amathungulu which resemble the Norwegian whortleberries in taste, and make a good jam.

She gives me to understand that it was largely on account of this manifold collection of garden plants that it was possible to make ends meet. With the years came the experience to know how to make use of it all.

On the stations they had cows and hens as well. They had a separator and could serve guests with cream in their coffee. "That is something we get only at the missionaries'", one of them said.

It is quite clear that the missionary stipend in no way at all allowed for wasting. On the contrary it was necessary to keep the strictest control over expenditure, and many are the folks who have wondered how the means sufficed. Here her husband was a capable planner. He had mail order cata-logues and bought in bulk. Every single purchase was closely appraised: economizing was a virtue of necessity. And then they reckoned with, and experienced richly, the blessing of God upon their daily bread.

Mrs. Rödseth has always loved reading. There was, however, not much time for that when the working day began at about six o'clock and was fully occupied until the living-room lamp was put out. It was after bed-time that by flickering candlelight she found time to bury herself in books and magazines. "Remember you have only one pair

15.

of eyes", her husband might turn and say, but for one who is a B-person and an incorrigible bookworm, there is not the slightest sting in that kind of comment and kindly reference. (A B-person rises late and retires late.)

An additional burden was that the children had to travel to Durban for their schooling. "It was never pleasant to send them off", as she says in an undramatic way. "It was generally not one of the children who cried when they departed. I think it was easier for the parents to resort to tears." It was a comfort to the missionary parents in Zululand to know that the children were in good hands at "The Home" in the town. The mission had bought it, and a couple of Norwegian "Aunts" cared for the growing generation as best they could.

On Saturdays the children attended "Saturday School", where the Norwegian minister in town and a couple of the ladies of the congregation taught them Scripture, Catechism, Norwegian and Norwegian history. All the children and some of the grandchildren speak and write Norwegian.

As is the case with most children of missionaries they are good linguists. They spoke Norwegian at home, Zulu to the Zulus and English at school. One day one of the girls brought an English girl friend home, and Mrs. Rödseth was of the opinion that they must be polite and speak English at table. "But we cannot possibly speak English to you, Mamma," came the immediate rejoinder.

In this way it was clear to them which language was to be used to address whom. A bit of mixing certainly occurred while they were little. As one of the boys said: "Salisiwe, please khipha loppa". Three words in three different languages. "Khipha" is Zulu and means something like

16.

"take out." Salisiwe was his nursemaid: he wanted her to help him to catch a flea. ("Loppa" is the Norwegian for "flea".)

The postal authorities contributed greatly to the widening of contacts as far as the missionaries at KwaMondi were concerned. Throughout earlier years the natives in the area had had to go all the way in to Eshowe to fetch their post. For those who already had long tough hills to climb to the station, there was an appreciable extra stretch of five kilometres to g0. It was decided to establish a postal agency on the mission station, and the missionary and his wife were sworn in as postmasters.

Now the natives came to send their letters and fetch their post at the station, something which resulted in the missionaries' coming into contact

with many who otherwise would just have walked past their door. The missionaries tried to talk to as many as possible and to witness to them. Being postal agents naturally brought more work, and there was of course never a question of keeping fixed office hours, but no one knows the value of what was sown of the Word of God.

In South Africa servants are, so to speak, "everyone's property". Many of the Whites have Blacks to help them both indoors and out, and in this the missionaries followed general practice. Without the help of natives Mrs. Rödseth would hardly have managed her manifold calling.

She is the first to admit that many mistakes were made in the treatment of the native servants, and an outsider who has grown up under entirely different conditions and in a different period of time, can hardly resist the temptation to criticise. For example, the servants always ate apart; they had their own pots, cups and dishes. Today that sounds almost churlish,

17.

but the thought behind it all was that the Blacks must not be spoiled, because then they would just be discontented when they returned to their own people.

The servants on the mission stations were treated in the same way as other Whites treated them, perhaps a little better. They were given board and lodging, clothes and a modest wage. Those who worked for missionaries were glad to do just that, not least because they were near the church. Every single Sunday they had the opportunity to meet friends and relatives outside church.

"In those days we would probably not have got the servants to accept any different treatment. They were used to being apart; that was most natural. I think they'd have felt worse about it than we if we had invited them to table with us", says Mrs. Rödseth.

_ _ _ _ _

When so much is said about her life and work, one may well be tempted to ask if she was indeed a missionary, or if she wasn't really just a housewife. She was not a missionary according to the definition of those days with a stipend for regular and definite tasks "out in the field". Nevertheless she had more than enough opportunities to utilize her gifts of grace in the service where she was placed. She was able to be a witness to both Black and White, to visitors as well as to those who were on the station all the time.

Her gifts of grace include the ability to make friends with people and then to show that she really cares for, and considers, those she meets. Indeed, this is one of her strongest characteristics, and we can hardly imagine what this must have meant on a big station like Kwa

18.

Mondi. It is not at all strange that all of her large circle of friends call her simply "Tante Marit". I've hardly heard anyone who knows her call her anything else. She is Tante Marit to us all; it comes quite naturally to say it from the very first.

In itself it is of course remarkable that she, at her great age, is on the same wavelength as all age groups. For barely a second of the time we have collaborated on this book has it ever occurred to me to think of her as being old. She is too sharp in her thoughts for that; her memory too alive and vital, and her interest in all that is happening around her too strong. She readily tells things of interest in her long life, but one seldom meets a person of her age so taken up with the happenings of the present.

"The minute she hears a car engine start up, she wants to go along too", as one of her children expressed it, and that is just how she is, eager to be where the action is.

She is unbelievably strong at her great age. I can just imagine how she was in her heyday. We noticed her strength particularly that spring day south of the Equator where the seasons are "upside down". The Zulu, J. Kilborn Msomi, Dean in the Evangelical Lutheran Church in South Africa, was the chauffeur. With difficulty we three crowded into the modest cab, but it certainly did not put a damper on Mrs. Rödseth's spirits and her joy in narrating. At every intersection she had adventures and memories. She

knew the trading-stores en route, shared liberally her knowledge

19.

of the many exotic plants and peculiarities of the Zulu landscape and enquired eagerly about everything new.

On the old Ngoye mission station, we had lunch on the church steps, sandwiches and coffee brought with us. The white building strives heaven-wards on a hill-top, washed red by rain, and red clay soil lower down. A little distance away lies the station itself, one of the places in Zululand which Mrs. Rödseth visited first of all. The old house has gone and a new one has come into being since that time in 1916, but the biggest change is on an entirely different plane. Where the Whites in their time used to be in charge, the Norwegian missionaries, we find the natives themselves today. This is the result of two things. For one thing Whites are no longer allowed to live in this area, since the authorities of the country have declared it a "Black area", but even more important is the fact that the Zulu minister here is a part of the national, Lutheran, independent church. Now they stand on their own feet.

Mrs. Rödseth spent most of her years as missionary in a Zululand where the many missionaries were in charge of the work; now she sees the Mission gradually withdrawing and letting the natives themselves take over. The task of the Mission must be carried on by the Church itself.

We are invited into the minister's dwelling-house. In every room she has memories. She has outlived most of her generation and been at Ngoye so many times. It is difficult to imagine what such a visit means to her.

Each of us sinks into a huge armchair, surely inherited from earlier occupants of the house, while children

20.

in their combined shyness and curiosity, gather behind the door.

Neither outside nor inside is the place as well-kept as in the days of the missionaries. Not actual decay, but garden patches and flower-beds are overgrown, and hens run about at will as in a Zulu kraal. Here and there a window swings.

It is easy to criticise, to speak of the incompetence of the Blacks, that they are created to be servants. Many d0. The explanation of this evident difference in so many of these outward things lies, however, on another plane than one is tempted to think, at first glance. And here Mrs. Rödseth is clear and firm in her views. It is impossible to expect that people who have an entirely different cultural background should have the same appreciation of those kinds of values as we have. Would they themselves have built a parsonage of such a shape and as substantial as this? Hardly. Even the Deanery is barely a little more than a third of what the minister's family in the ex-missionary dwelling has to look after. They have neither help in the house nor other servants to help them.

We must be careful not to judge those who have grown up in totally different conditions from those we live in. Mrs. Rödseth is the first to tell me this. She is also the first to defend the young church which must now stand on its own feet; of necessity it will have its limitations to begin with.

Just consider the financial aspect. It costs a lot to keep a large dwelling in good repair; it requires more money than a Zulu minister has at his disposal. In the very

21.

difficult financial situation lies one of the biggest difficulties - and dangers - of the young church. When ends never seem to meet, the ministers can be tempted to preach more about money than about God, even if only to ensure their own stipends. The most important thing must be to let God's Holy Spirit fill the servants of the church in such a way that they preach the gospel to the salvation and conversion of people, and then other things will come right, little by little. I learn about such things that day spent with Mrs. Rödseth and Dean Msomi.

_ _ _ _ _

Today Marit Rödseth lives with one of her daughters in a town near Durban. Here she is well cared for in every way. She has her own little room and is surrounded by the most precious of the possessions and memories of a long life; this is her "desert place", as she says. For what was it Jesus said: "Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place, and rest a while". (Mark 6:31)

She fills the days with reading, not to mention letter-writing. She corresponds with a small host of people. I am repeatedly taken aback at all those who have received long letters from her. Her output of letters must be simply formidable. Firstly, she corresponds with all her many children and grandchildren in South Africa, besides which she exchanges letters with many of her nieces and nephews in Norway and a whole range of friends from her years as an active missionary, friends who have now left the country.

During this work with this book it struck me that her handwriting has not changed much during her life. Her hand is still almost as steady as when she made the first entries

22.

in her diary in Madagascar in 1914. With all due respect it must be said that her handwriting has never been beautiful, but it is still easily readable.

Throughout all these years she has been allowed to retain her eyesight, for which she is very grateful. "Even though it is not first-class, it is in any case usable", as she says.

At the time of writing, Mrs. Rödseth is just as healthy and active as she has been throughout those many years. "But, of course, I know the call to higher service may come any day", says she. How blessed to meet someone who has lived under God's guidance throughout life, even though the road turned out very different from imagined, and who is now equipped for the final departure!

Some will perhaps think it the limit to write a book "only" about the wife of a missionary. In the mean time there is no doubt at all that Nor-wegian mission work would not have been where it is today if it had not been for such as these. That is why this book is being written. It must not be read as the account of just one, but of all wives of missionaries. They have made and still make a contribution which friends of mission work and mission organizations must never forget.

Mrs. Rödseth has assuredly no thought of seeking prominence. She has

collaborated in the writing of this book in the hope that new friends may be won for the mission and because the old friends need to know that their support has certainly not been in vain. A certain amount of the material in the book it will be of historical interest to preserve. Her prayer is that the book may be a source of joy, encouragement and blessing to mission supporters. And rarely has a book been prayed over as much as this one!

Some will perhaps consider the book inclined to be too

23.

sober; that, of great words and strong colours, too few have been used. Maybe! However, the one who goes wandering through the following pages with Mrs. Rödseth will notice meanwhile that her life has been rich in happenings and experiences. Another person's account of these might have had the stamp of exaggeration and of being larger than life. She does not want it that way. She wishes to speak the truth as far as it is possible and to the smallest detail; then all of it stands or falls as it is. Marit Rödseth wants no sort of hero's glow around her work-a-day life.

She insists on remaining an ordinary everyday person.
 
 

24.
 
 
 
 

THE EARLY CALL TO MISSION WORK

My childhood home was on the farm Lian in Hemne in Southern Tröndelag. Hemne is a large, extensive parish. My father was a teacher and a farmer with a large family of children, eleven in all. The first little boy died, just a few months old. I myself was the middle one in this family, the sixth child, born on 28 September 1885. (Marit died 25-02-1985. I.G.)

We had a secure and good home, but it was hard work growing up on a farm in those days. My eldest brother, Ellef, was only eight years old when he began to drive the milk to the creamery morning and evening. He was so little that he had to stand on a box to harness the mare. It sometimes happened that he fell asleep on the cart on his way home, but the mare found her way from old habit.

The next boy, Nils, became a strong lad, and early in life had to make himself useful.

"That Södahl fellow runs his farm with a family of children", it was said of Father, and that was not far from the truth.

During the first years on Lian Father had hired help. As we children grew bigger there was an end to that, except during the harvests when things were busiest. In the cow-shed

25.

we children had to help shovel manure, sweep the stalls and take hay down from the hayloft when Mother was to feed the animals.

On summer days it was the herding of cattle that we did by turns and in order. As little ones we herded two by two, but as we grew bigger, we went singly. I can remember we set off with the livestock jogging ahead and with our lunch for the day in a knapsack on our backs. We girls always had handwork with us; yes, as a matter of fact, I sewed my first Hardanger embroidery in the forest. Knitting was also good to take with us, because we could knit while we trudged.

In sunshine and fine weather it was very pleasant to be with the animals. We could sit on a tree-stump, listen to the clanging of the cow-bells and hum a tune. In rain and rough weather, we might get wet to the knees, and water swished in our wooden clogs. We shivered and froze and the days seemed long.

We girls milked the cows when they were tied up in the stalls in the summer cowshed. One of the smaller boys had to bring the milk pails and the yoke. We carried the milk home across a shoulder.

The cows had a habit of resting for an hour or two in the middle of the day. They had their regular resting-places. One of these we called Buvollen. If it was really hot, they found a shady place on the outskirts of the grassy plain where they lay and chewed the cud and dozed.

For a couple of summers I herded a lot together with a herdboy from one of the neighbouring farms, Peder Raaen. We built ourselves a little house on Buvollen while the cattle rested. We carried rocks from the brook and built up four walls with a doorway, and I think we had taken with us

26.

some old box planks for a roof. It was good to seek shelter there from the rain.

When I was home in Norway in 1946, my sister Anne also came to Norway from America. One fine summer's day we took a trip up to Buvollen, we old sisters and brothers. There lay a little grey cairn as the remains of the house Peder and I had built. Otherwise, where we had herded on Buvollen it was overgrown. It was practically a little forest. No herd grazes there now. The younger generation use cultivated grazing for their cattle. They don't need to herd. But we old siblings had a fine day and revived memories of bygone times.

The more energetic of us continued up the valley, and clambered to the top of the mountain called Grönöra as well. There was the most glorious view of Likroken and Rovatnet. "Oh I remember, I remember so well this land."

Peder Råen I met again, to0. He was a widower with grown-up children and lived alone on that lovely little farm of his on Stoltsmolia.

Minding children was part and parcel of our daily work. The bigger children had to mind the smaller ones. Thus it was that for the most part it was I who minded the three youngest boys. It didn't seem an onerous duty, because I loved them, and we played and had fun together.

An elderly woman, Elen Hunnes, spent a lot of time with us during the summers. She was not robust, but there was such peace and security about her. She and I sometimes managed to make the midday dinner for the harvesters. We would boil fish and potatoes and milk-soup before we rang the "soup bell" at the set time.

27.

There was no lack of fun. Guri and Ellef were very inventive, and Nils was a close runner-up. There could be a hailstorm of jokes and little witticisms which made us laugh. Guri had an almost phenomenal ability to mimic people. She would mimic one or other funny old man so we others were bent double with laughter, but I don't think this ever went beyond the circle of siblings.

Guri could sing. I don't know where she learned them, but she had a whole store of songs and melodies. She sang while she milked the cows, and she sang at the spinning-wheel and the loom. Whether it was "It is getting light in the forest" or "The heaviest sorrow must be the one no one sees". We others copied her and learned by heart.

My father loved singing, to0. Often the first thing I heard in the morning was my father singing as he walked through the house, "Should I not praise my God and thank Him sincerely?" Otherwise Father was of a nervous nature. He suffered from insomnia, whether it was anxiety over the large number of children which plagued him, or his school work which burdened him.

It is strange how younger children can look up to older siblings. I remember I considered Ellef wise. He could answer almost all my questions.

Guri was the one who had done most of the caring for me when I was little. She was incomparably patient and clever. I loved her very much. One evening when Mother was in the cowshed we sat by the open grate. Guri rocked us in the big cradle. She had Magnhild on her lap and Jon and me beside her. She sang, and she told stories.

28.

I thought this was too lovely for words, so I said to her, "If Mother dies, you can be our mother."

At that she became very serious: "If our mother dies, we shall have no mother."

I had never thought of that.

For the most part we lived on the produce of the farm. In the autumn the cellar was full of potatoes, and in the stabbur (a store-house on pillars) there were huge bins full of good oatmeal and rye meal. The meat of the animals which were slaughtered in the autumn was corned in a tremen-dously big trough which stood on the stabbur floor, and later it was hung up on rods between two beams. On a shelf along a wall there were stacks of flatbröd (sheets of flat unleavened bread) similar to bannocks. A large barrel of salt herrings had its place there to0.

We were served good, well-prepared meals. Even though they were per-haps a bit monotonous in the long run, there was nothing wrong with our appetites!

Mother was enterprising. She got the loom set up so both calico and a half-woollen, half-cotton material we called "stoff", were woven. "Vadmel", an all-wool material, was made for the boys' clothes. From stoff we got strong school dresses.

My sisters, Guri and Anne, were allowed to sit and spin and weave, while I helped in the house. This I considered a bit ignominious, but of course my turn came later. When I was 15 years old I was allowed to weave one hundred "aden" of calico for sheeting, i.e. about 65 metres. From that length I wove I still have four sheets which have "survived" until now, although they have certainly not just lain in the bottom of the kist. I have worn out many sheets in the mean time, so that says a bit about the quality of what we made at that time.

I remember the dark evenings of the winter half-year. The paraffin lamp hung from the ceiling in the middle of our

29.

large living-room, the spinning-wheels hummed, we school-children sat with our home-work around the large table with the stump of a candle in the middle.

Father had brought in the chopping-block from the kitchen and was working on a little block of raw birch which was to be made into clogs. His father, Nils Södahl, had been a blacksmith. He had made some extra good clog-irons which they used to hollow out the clogs. The one who was to get the clogs, had to try them on and tell Father where they were tight and required more gouging so they would fit.

Mother found time for many things. On summer days she filled the basket with garden berries - there were currants, cherries and gooseberries - and carried it on a yoke to the nearest trading-store to sell the berries. She was strong, and in the midst of all the struggle she was never out of sorts and never lost her joy in working.

Not all times were happy times.

The first great sorrow which struck us at Lian, occurred when the youngest three children developed diphtheria. Magnhild was six years old, Henrik four and Arne tw0.

Magnhild took ill first. Our old district surgeon didn't realize that it was diphtheria. Nevertheless he gave Magnhild strong medicine which helped her. The mistake was that she was not isolated. When she was getting better, Henrik stood beside her bed with his toys and kept her company. Then he took ill and after him, Arne.

By then a young assistant doctor had arrived in the parish. He saw at once what was wrong with them. The children were isolated and moved into the other sitting-room. I tried to sneak

30.

in to hear what the doctor was saying, but one look from him made me disappear quickly.

So I stood outside the window and peeped in. Mother stood bent over the cradle while her tears fell down on little Arne. He had a high temper-ature. Magnhild and Arne recovered, but Henrik developed a complication. Paralysis crept up his body until it reached his heart. The doctor had predicted that this could happen.

Little Henrik suffered a painful death. He cried for hours on end. There was no one who could give him an injection or any other painkiller. I remember that we lay on the floor upstairs in the attic and beseeched God to fetch him soon to spare him suffering.

Henrik had been an unusually pious child. He could speak so naturally about Jesus and Heaven. He reached Heaven before he was five years old.

The day Henrik was to be buried our nearest neighbour, Marit Nestua, came down the hill with a basket. She had bought some coffee and sugar and baker's bread which she wished to give us. Mother met her on the hill-side. There the two sat two or three metres apart and talked for a while. There were undoubtedly more tears than talk.

Father's old uncle, Anders Stoltsmo, arrived and went with us in the boat to Hemne Church where the little coffin was lowered into the grave.

I was told that when my sister Magnhild lay on her death bed in Orkanger Hospital 80 years old, she said in a semi-conscious state: "O no, there comes little Henrik". It was like a greeting from Heaven.

For the whole of that summer we at Lian were isolated. A

31.

haycutter and a widow who were helping us with the work had to remain where they were until everything we owned had been disinfected. No one dared come near us for fear of infection. Fortunately it was a good summer, and the whole of the harvest was gathered in.

The following summer Mother had another little boy. He was to be the youngest child in the family and was given the name Henrik after the little one who had died.

_ _ _ _ _

My brother Ellef, named after my mother's father, Ellef Holden, was educated as a teacher at Levanger Training College. He was appointed to Holla and Oddan circuits, the same place where Father had been the teacher earlier. After only four years in the work Ellef took ill. It was tuberculosis, and at that time, to develop that illness amounted to about the same thing as getting one's death sentence.

Father and Mother scraped together money and sent Ellef to Eastern Norway to sanatoria. He was at Granheim in Gausdal, and at Lillehammer. At Granheim he got to know a Swedish nursing sister, Tilda Högsten, a pious Christian. It resulted in their becoming engaged. Both of them were certain that he would get well again.

Ellef came home for the summer and returned to Östlandet (the east) in winter. Tilda came to spend the summer holidays with us. This went on for three years.

The winter of 1907 Ellef spent with my sister Guri in Sövassdalen. There was mountain air there. Just before Christmas he took it into his head that he wanted to go home. Once more the sitting-room was made into a sick-room. Mother cared for Ellef as best she could. He was well enough to be up every day.

32.

After New Year on the morning of 6 January he had a violent haemorr-hage and his life ebbed away fast. When Mother arrived with the breakfast tray, he was lying half-dressed on the bed, dead.

Tilda arrived and found her beloved Ellef lay in his coffin in the barn. Once more there were sad heavy days. The question in the minds of Father and Mother, and, indeed, of all of us was: had God saved him? Mother had had a talk with him the evening before he died, but doubt arose.

It was, therefore, a comfort to us all to hear what Magnhild had to tell us. That cold January morning she had been in the cowshed and had hurried to finish so she could go in to say good-morning to Ellef. When she ran out to hang the straining-cloth on the garden fence, she saw Ellef through the window. He met her gaze, and his face beamed a big smile. She felt as though there was something supernatural about it. This gave all of us great comfort.

After Ellef's death fifty-five years passed without a death in the family of siblings. We were eight of us who reached an advanced age.

My brother Nils went to America in 1907. When he returned in 1914 he had earned sufficient money to be able to buy Father's farm. He became a capable farmer and lived to be ninety years old. His son Lars took over the farm from him and farmed there for many years, but for health reasons he had to sell. Now Gudbjörn Singstad has bought Lian; he is the son of Magnhild's daughter. We can rejoice that the farm is still in the family. Anne also went to America, in 1910. She remained there until she died 87 years old.

33.

She was home several times and hoped to be able to move to Norway in her old age, but nothing came of it.

_ _ _ _ _

A bit more about my parents.

Mother was born 16 May 1853. She was Ingeborg Ellefsdatter Holden, daughter of a farmer. Father was Lars Nilsen Södahl, born 2 May 1844 on the farm Södahl.

He underwent teacher training at Dean Bödtker's seminary in Stören. He sat his examination in 1867. After five years' work in Budalen he was appointed to Hemne in 1872, in the Holla-Oddan school circuit. Two years later he married Mother.

Father was a faithful worker who never spared himself. Besides the school work, he toiled on the farm. After the busy planting and harvesting seasons he would still dig furrows in late autumn where the land was boggy.

In 188O, the same year that he bought the farm Lian, he was appointed to the Eide-Likroken school circuit. He taught for two weeks at a stretch in Sövassdalen and two weeks in Eide-Likroken alternately and had 24 weeks' school teaching altogether. The 15 km or so to Sövassdalen he would walk. Father liked walking.

The Eide and Likroken communities had debated the siting of the school which was to serve both. The river and the forest separated the two communities, and each wanted the schoolhouse on its own side. In the end the school-house was placed in the middle of the forest; both parties were satisfied with this.

There was a wonderful playground around the school-house in the forest.

34.

Father had taught us children to read using the Bible as text-book. On the Sunday mornings when there was no church service, he took the Bible, seated himself at the table, and then we stood beside him while he pointed at letters with his sheath-knife.

Later we learned to turn up in the Bible and read passages from the Old Testament. They supplemented the passages in our text-book, the little Bible-history book. I believe that all of us could read well, before we started school.

Schooldays were in the nature of holidays for us children, because then we were excused farm-work.

I was 13 years old when I saw and heard the missionary Lars Röstvig for the first time. He was home from Madagascar. Röstvig was a personal friend of my parents. He held a meeting in our large living-room. It was full of people. He told us about Tuléar (Toliara), and it made a tremendous impression on me. Among other things he said: "The young girls have nothing to do but sit on the sand and pick lice off each other, and then they crush the lice."

Tuléar was where I wanted to g0. I would teach the young girls about whom Röstvig had told us.

Lars Röstvig was born in Hemne. He had his religious breakthrough in 1862, 16 years old, when there was a great revival in the district and many were converted. He came of straitened circumstances. His mother was widowed early, so he struggled a lot to acquire extra knowledge. With the help of Christian friends Lars Röstvig was admitted to the Mission School in Stavanger in 1869.

Five years later he sailed to West Madagascar, where he worked for 37 years. As pensioner he lived

35.

in Trondheim with his family. Röstvig has his memorial stone with bas-relief outside the church gate of Hemne church.

Forty years after Lars Röstvig I myself sailed to Madagascar as a missionary with a dream of working in Tuléar on the station where he had had his long pioneer period. Little did I know that God had entirely different plans for my life.

In my childhood there was no children's work in our parish, no children's meeting, or Sunday School. We children went with the adults to meetings for edification, as we called such gatherings, and we went with

Mother to the "kvinneforening", the women's meeting.

The parish was large, the pastor had three, and from 1899, four churches to serve, and the distance between them was great. We could walk to Vinje Church; it was probably 5 km. To the main Hemne Church we had to row across the water, or go around it. In winter there was usually thick ice, and then it was quick to go by horse and sledge.

When there was no reasonably close church service, there was always someone who held a gathering or mission meeting. Then we children were allowed to attend, too, and we sat quiet as mice. It was generally one of the people of the parish who held the gathering and brought a simple and hearty testimony. He urged young and old to seek God while there was time. There was a lot of singing and prayer, too, at the meetings. From time to time an emissary would pay us a visit. On such occasions we children ran from house to house to tell folks where the meeting was to be held.

I remember that Father had some planks stacked in under the barn. We carried the planks into the sitting-room and laid them

36.

across two chairs when the gathering was to be at our house. They were benches with room for many people.

There was no doubt about the fact that the meetings meant a lot to us children as well. I remember something which happened at school while I was still in the beginners' class. It was play-time, and the girls in big school disappeared up the ladder to the attic above the school-room. Father noticed this. He peeped over the top of the ladder to see what was on the g0. There the big girls were kneeling in prayer. Father withdrew noiselessly. I believe it made a great impression on him.

My brother Henrik Södal has written a book which he calls "From the Culture Records in Hemne after the 1830s" (Rune Publishers 1976). There he tells us that right from the time of Hans Nielsen Hauge, early in the 1800s, the laymen's movement has been strong in our parish, and it has left its mark in it well into the present century.

Many of the ministers down through the years stood in a good relation-ship to the "lesere" (readers), but not all. There was one in particular who sought to put serious hindrances in the path of their activity. But the movement was strong and just grew stronger.

The first mission association in Hemne was established by the well-known reader and lay preacher Erik Sagen in 1855. Subsequently more mission associations were formed in the parish. But the majority were "kvinneforen-inger" (women's associations) for the mission. The first kvinneforening was started in 1861. By 1900 there were 8 kvinneforeninger in Hemne, and since then very many have come into being, one in every little hamlet, so to speak. In 1873 Holden kvinneforening was established. There my grandmother was a member. At the first meeting the question of

37.

refreshments was raised, because many had far to go. At that my grandmother is supposed to have said: "Surely we can carry a potato pancake in our pockets".

Meanwhile the thought of missions was older than that kvinneforening. In Hemne and Vinje churches there are collection boxes which bear the date 1846, and the following inscription which states the purpose of the collection: "For the Rev. Schreuder's mission to the Zulu people in South Africa".

I remember one Sunday I went to the mission meeting on Södahl farm. The owner of the farm was a cousin of my father and bore the same name. They were both more than likely named after the same grandfather. That day it was the church cantor Strand from Vinje who led the meeting. He sat turning the pages of the Norwegian Mission Tidings.

"So what shall we read now? Shall we read good news, or shall we read about the need out there?"

"You must let us hear about the need," replied Lars.

It was altogether a truly good Christian home Lars Södahl had. One of his daughters, Elen, was my special friend. I remember once I was allowed home from school with Elen, to spend the night there.

When we had gone to bed that night, we heard someone talking in the little room below ours. We listened, and then Elen said: "It's Ingebrigt praying." He was her eldest brother. Later on it was he who started the first Sunday school in Hemne.

When I was fifteen years old I was confirmed in Vinje Church. Sören Dahl was the minister, a very good preacher. The confirmation classes meant a great deal

38.

to me, but I still didn't take a decisive step. I was 17 before I did that. It was at a meeting in the "bedehus" (chapel or house of prayer). A young emissary spoke. Everybody knew that this young man had TB. I remember he said: "We must get to the point where we put our foot down and say: Now I will".

This became decisive for me. I told Mother about my decision one day when we were out raking hay. She was glad. I know that, but we were not in the habit of having outbursts of feeling. There were just a few hidden tears of joy. Otherwise I believe that I was never very distant from God.

Only once did I appear on a dance floor. It was one Sunday evening. I don't rightly know how it happened, but there was a crowd of young people in an empty barn on one of the Stoltsmo farms. A young grown-up man asked me to dance. I said honestly that I didn't know how to dance. "You'll soon learn", he said. I went with him on to the floor. When I realized that I fell into the rhythm and made the steps as easily as he, I was frightened. I got out of there and ran home as fast as I could. There sat Mother under the lamp reading the Norwegian Mission Tidings.

She didn't ask where I had been, but she must have known. It was clear to me that I was not at home on the dance floor.

My conversion led to the confirmation of my mission call, but that was not all there was to it. Firstly, I had to have an education, and secondly, I was a woman. It wasn't easy for a woman to get out on to the mission field at that time, if she wasn't the wife of a missionary. I had neither the plan

39.

nor the expectation of becoming that. I wished to be a missionary.

Straight after my confirmation things worked out in such a way that I got an extra winter of schooling. A new precentor arrived in Hemne parish, Elias Moe, and he was asked to run a winter course for adult youth. I was able to attend it.

In the autumn of 1905 a private intermediate school course was run at Kyrksæteröra, and I was able to attend. We were just a little class, but we had a good teacher. For some reason or other it ran for only that one winter. We had to do the second year of the course in Trondheim.

Despite Father's strained finances he sent me there. I was able to live with an old lady and provided my own food, which was from home, by and large. At Berentsen and Foyn's Intermediate School there was input all round. We were a class of 4O pupils, diligent country youth who wanted to get ahead. We studied night and morning, so there wasn't much time for anything besides lessons and school-work. Nevertheless I did have some contact with Christian activities in Trondheim. Amongst other things I remember some good revival meetings which I was able to attend.

My great desire was to sing in a choir, but I didn't manage that.

It was at this time that I got to hear about the Mission School for women in Osl0. I realized at once that I must go there.

Summer came and I went home with the examination certificate in my suitcase. I still had not talked to Father and Mother about my mission call and the mission school. Several years were to pass before I got there.

40.

That summer I worked on the farm.

In the autumn of 1906 there was a message from the trader on Kyrksæteröra asking if I would come and be governess for his youngest children. I had no experience of school-work but I think it went quite well for the children.

My cousin Anders Lian and his wife Elen had both served in the Hemne Commercial Association for several years and in that way got a good insight into trading. When they married they left the association and decided to start their own business. They bought an old house on Kyrksæteröra, opened a country trading-store and asked me to be their shop assistant. I stayed there for three years.

Both of them worked hard. He sat doing accounts into the night and had big worries about expenses. But they made a go of it.

The Commercial Association had fixed prices, that is to say that the prices were set so low that there was no room to bargain. We maintained the same principle, but it wasn't easy for the older customers to understand this. From of old they were used to standing there haggling in order to get the price down by a few ha'pennies. Anders was something of a dragon. Sometimes he flared up and let them have it. It didn't matter much, for he was well liked, and so was that quiet, hard-working wife of his. They did get customers even though there was strong competition for them.

When a woman had stood and filled her basket with goods and was going home, Elen Lian might say to her: "Now you must come up to the kitchen with me; then we'll see if there isn't a cup of coffee to be had".

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We had goods of every conceivable kind, from laces and silk materials to materials for making horse-shoes and for building. The house soon proved to be too small, so it wasn't long before they added to it. The business did well.

After I had left Hemne, the wonderful thing happened that Anders and Elen were converted. Anders became a soul on fire in the Lord's work. He spared no effort to get around to visit the sick and the old people and tried to get them to understand that they were sinners who needed Christ.

At the mission meetings he was a leading figure. Once in his later years he got as far as Stavanger and saw the Mission School. He was so moved that he wept tears, it was said.

Anders and Elen got a large family of children. Much sorrow, too, they had. The eldest boy died when he was eleven years old, and after that a little boy of theirs died. When we were home in 1924, their youngest child died, a lovely little girl aged three years. Sorrow matured them. "I have told the Lord that He must do exactly as He wishes with my children, as long as He saves them," he said.

Those years as a shop assistant hadn't shaken my resolve to be a missionary. Now I thought of nursing and applied for admission to the Deaconess House, Lovisenberg in Oslo, as a private student.

When I got there, I was asked if I wanted to become a deaconess, but no, I thought that that would delay my reaching the mission field. As far as I can remember we were six private students who were admitted at the same time. It was New Year 1911.

42.

The six of us shared a large dormitory in the Mother House. The very first thing we had to learn was to make the beds so that all of them looked exactly alike. We were taught how to address a doctor, how to change the clothing on a patient and such things. One passage I remember: "One dresses a corpse in the same way as one dresses a patient." One of the older deaconesses, Sister Kristine Berg, took us into the chapel one by one, knelt with us and prayed with us. A moving evidence of care which gave us boldness.

We also went to greet Mother Guldberg. Miss Cathinka Guldberg was the Mother Superior of the whole establishment. It was said that she knew personally every single one of the several hundred deaconesses who were working around the country. Now she was old and was suffering from sciatica so badly that she limped. She always had an assistant sister with her, but she was still the undisputed, honoured leader.

We were moved across to the hospital. The work there was pleasant. I liked meeting all kinds of people, and that was a good chance to do s0.

So we were given only one year's training. That was no thorough train-ing, but I have had good use for it through life. During the second part of the year's training we worked in the Government Hospital, and of course there we were given a bit more responsibility.

From New Year 1912 I worked at Bratsberg Hospital in Skien until I went home in the early summer.

Now I discussed the future with Father and Mother and prayed a lot about it; indeed, I asked the Lord to stop my going if it wasn't His will.

I sent an application to the Mission School for Women

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and received the answer that I could start in the autumn. The reply came when I was outside working with my brother John. Of my siblings he was my closest companion.

"What shall I do now then?" I said to him.

"When you've said A, you must say B," was the succinct answer.

Thus it was. I advised them that I was coming. That autumn I turned 27. I was old enough to know what I was doing.

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THE MISSION SCHOOL AND THE DEPARTURE.

The idea of a mission school just for women dates back to last century, but it wasn't until 1901 that the first two students were admitted. At first the courses were led by Bolette Gjör, a well-known name in the Norwegian Mission Society at that time. She died in 19O9, and then it was Miss Henny Dons who took over the leadership. The courses steadily took more definite shape, and applications for admission increased year by year.

Miss Dons, a person I came to love a lot, was a teacher and had work at the Mission School besides her ordinary teaching in an Oslo school. She rented a large house, where she also took in tenants besides the students of the mission school. In the autumn of 1912 we were three students who began at the school to do the two year course: Ragnhild Sörensen, Gudrun Henning and I. Altogether we were seven women who had our joint household at the school.

As far as I can remember, the school was in Eugenie Street. The Bursar of the Deaconess House for many years, Aug. B. Jahnsen, lived in the same house in another end of it.

We had a spacious combined dining- and living-room. In it there was

a large round table which Miss Dons called "Punktum". (Full stop.) When we moved really close

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together there was room for two or three guests.

I shared my room with Ragnhild Sörensen. Miss Dons and one of her friends, Julie Winsnes, had a large bedroom each, while another friend, Thea Syvertsen, lived in an annexe, where Gudrun Henning also had her room. We had a very good maid, Ragna Nordstrand, who took care of us.

Miss Dons was inclined to be blunt, but everything she did was meant well. She knew what we needed, and she overlooked nothing. At times she was perhaps too strict. I know that she expected a lot of the maid. The house-keeping money had to stretch far. It was certainly not for nothing that the maid said one day:

"If Miss Dons were not a Christian, she would be angry."

It was taken for granted that we had to be as economical and sensible as possible. It was the Mission which paid for our keep, and those means had to be spent wisely.

We had to provide our own pocket-money. I had saved a bit while I was working. Otherwise I had help from my father and mother. They rejoiced that I wanted to go out as a missionary. Of course they loved all mission work, but especially "gamlemisjonen" (the old mission), as the NMS was called.

The time at the school enriched us, characterized by Miss Dons's dependable organizing and encouragement to press into the Word of God. She had to have order in the appointments of the day's programme when she had to hold down her

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own teaching job, teach us and on top of that be the director. Her best advice in teaching us was this: "Read the Bible; read as much as you can of the Old Testament!"

In the mornings we had language lessons. Ragnhild and I who were destined for Madagascar, studied French with an older lady, Helene Hornemann, who lived in Bygdö Allé with her mother and a sister. Old Mrs. Hornemann had lived in Paris with her daughters for several years so they could learn the language thoroughly. Nor was there any doubt about the fact that Miss Hornemann knew her subject. But she would never disclose her age. "If I say how old I am, I shall get no pupils", she said.

It was always pleasant to be in their home. They were kind people who invited us to their summer home at Nesodden as well, where we had a lovely day.

Gudrun Henning studied English. She was destined for Santalistan, Bihar, India, but afterwards she met the missionary priest Einar S. Smebye and went to China instead. There she died in 1926, far too young, only 41 years old.

Ragnhild Sörensen, who came from Oslo, spent a long working-life on Madagascar.

Henny Dons herself was responsible for teaching us Mission History and the Bible. She was a good pedagogue, and there was much that was new to us in her Bible-studies. Besides going through the gospels thoroughly we studied the Old Testament, especially 2 Kings, where there is so much about Elijah.

The syllabus was such that it included visiting guest

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lecturers. We were also able to attend some lectures at Menighetsfakultet-et, which trains men for the ministry. I remember both Ole Hallesby and Johannes Johnsen. These spiritual giants spoke in such a way that it has stayed with me through life. I remember from one of Hallesby's lectures: "There is a power which Almighty God can do nothing with: the human will. He can not save us against our will".

In one lecture Johannes Johnsen spoke of "the Christianity of up-bringing" and "the Christianity of conversion". I understood that even though I had grown up in a Christian home, I had to be saved by grace for Jesus' sake. In many ways this became a new breakthrough for me; it laid the foundation for my further development as a Christian.

Both Hallesby and Johnsen paid the school visits, too.

Of others who came to the school, I must mention a Pastor Schreiner who gave us valuable Bible-studies, and Olaf Olden, who taught heathen religions. This opened a whole new world to us. Today I still have my notes from the Mission School.

Henny Dons also took us with her to the Schoolmistresses' Mission Association (LMF), which held meetings on the last Saturday evening of the month.

There we met missionaries from our different mission fields and heard them tell about their work. They closed with prayer, when none of the mission fields was forgotten. Later I became an honorary member of LMF, and have received its magazine ever since.

Many missionaries visited the school. I must mention

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some of them. The China missionary Marie S. Römcke, sent out to China by the China Inland Mission (an English society to which several Norwegian missionaries were attached before the mission societies in Norway began work in that country), is one person I have never forgotten. Emilie Cas-persen from the Mission Society also made a deep impression on me with her accounts from China. And Andrea Ofstad from West-Madagascar, together with that refined old deaconess Marie Föreid, who had given her whole life in the service of the lepers on Mangaran0. Both of these were sent out by NMS.

We had visits by foreign missionaries as well. A couple of these were Englishmen who had experienced the Boxer Revolt in China. They held a meeting in the Calmeyer Street Chapel (bedehus), where they told a full house how 5O English missionaries were killed during the rioting, and how they themselves had escaped in an amazing way.

For us three young ones who were to go to foreign lands and races, all these meetings with missionaries who had been out in the service, contri-buted ballast on our way. How little I had understood that time when I as a 13-year old had decided to go out to help Malagasian girls, how much that had opened up for me during this time at the Mission School! But my calling had only been confirmed all the more.

At Christmas-time 1913 we bade the Mission School farewell. Henny Dons had invited the aging missionary couple Johanne and Christian Borchgrevink. He was both theologian and medical doctor and had had a long working-day on Madagascar. He held devotions for us from John 12:24: "Unless a grain of wheat

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falls to the ground and dies, it bears no fruit." This word has gone with me through life.

It remained to say good-bye to those at home, but before I could tackle the mission work I had to study language, first in Paris.

Christmas at home on Lian. As many of my siblings as were able, came home. We celebrated a quiet high holy time. Father gave me Lars Dahle's book, "Life after Death". Mother gave me a tea-cloth, embroidered in white by a house-maid she had. One of my cousins, Olaf Södahl, had drawn the design on it, motifs from Kaffistova (the coffee shop) in Trondheim. For many years it was my only tea-cloth. I still have it, more than sixty years after that Christmas celebration.

Lars Röstvig lived in Trondheim at that time. During New Year he visited Hemne. Röstvig wished me Happy New Year in French, and I replied as best I could.

New Year's Day was the day of my departure. It was hard to say good-bye.

I have a picture of that last gathering at home. My sister Magnhild and her husband, Martin Gravdal, were there with their eldest little daughter, Marie. John, Arne and Henrik were at home. Nils and Anne were in America. As it was winter-time it was too long a trip for Guri from Vasslia; I had already been there and said good-bye beforehand.

There was snow outside, a beautiful winter's day. Mother accompanied me to the corner of the garden.

"As far as this I accompanied Nils, and as far as this I accompanied Anne, and now I am accompanying you. All I can do is pray that God be with all of you." Not even now was expression given to the

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deep emotions. If Mother shed tears it was after my back was turned.

Even though it was difficult to say good-bye, I think that this simple realistic attitude was just what made it easier for us. In addition there was the fact that I had already been away so much.

I went by horse and sledge to Öra and from there by boat to Trondheim. In the evening I caught the train to Osl0. The unaccustomed noise and rhythm caused me to sleep badly. In semi-sleep I saw my mother's face before me. It was like a vision of the tenderest love.

Ten and a half years were to pass before I saw my parents and siblings again.

In Oslo I spent a couple of days with Henny Dons. As long as she lived, I was bound to this fine Christian personality with strong bonds. Many friends accompanied me to Vestbanen station, where I was to catch the train to Kristiansand. Here I was met by Sofie Jensen, who saw me on board the boat for Antwerp. She was a sister of the well-known Santal missionary Anna Jensen. In this way arrangements had been made with people to meet me all along the route, but in Antwerp something went wrong so I had to find my own way to the train for Paris.

Ragnhild Sörensen and I did not travel together to Paris, because she had a sister she wished to visit in England. She reached Paris after me, where she was placed in a hospital. While she was still there, the war broke out, and she was amongst those who received the first wounded French soldiers. Luckily, she was able to get out of the country and get to Madagascar, where the work given her was

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at the hospital at Antsirabé. She was a radiant person, Ragnhild Sörensen.

That January day the world city met me with all its well-known build-ings and famous places. My journey out into the big world had begun. I stood at the gateway to something I had dreamt about for a long time.

A custom's officer stood on the station and looked through our baggage. There wasn't much to check in my suitcase. I had a few clothes, some bedding and some other effects. A sewing-machine was perhaps the most valuable item. I knew that I would find it useful in Madagascar.

In Paris it had been arranged that the French missionary Paul Buchsen-schutz, who was attached to the Mission Society for a long time and even became the representative of the Norwegian missionaries in Madagascar, was to meet me at the station. He piloted me to a boarding-house which was run by two pleasant ladies and had guests from many different countries.

It was winter-time and cold, terribly cold in the town along the Seine. A big fire-place in the middle of the house was supposed to heat all the rooms. There wasn't much heat for us who had our rooms furthest away from the fire-place in that draughty building.I froze that winter, froze more than was good for me. In between times I went for long walks to warm my feet.

The time in Paris I tried to use to best advantage. I did like Ludvig Holberg did, I saw everything I could see "without money". Churches and museums one could visit gratis, and it didn't cost anything to admire the many sculptures in Jardin de Luxembourg.

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My brother Nils in America was going home to Norway. He laid his route via Paris in order to see me. We had two pleasant days together.

The French tuition I was given together with a lot of other foreign-ers; I believe we were over 40 of us in the class. The foundation I had got from Miss Hornemann, was of the best kind, but it took a long time before I could follow.

I studied as best I could, but it was slow work. The teacher could not give individual attention when the class was so big. I was impatient.

The intention was that I was to try to sit the "Alliance Francaise" examination, but there was no chance to do that. You see, instructions came from the head committee that I had to prepare to travel with the John Hodnefjeld family which was passing through Paris in the May on its way to Madagascar.

We travelled by train to Marseilles. There we stayed for a couple of days waiting for the ship to leave. We availed ourselves of the time to make some purchases. I remember that I bought a cork helmet, which it was said was absolutely necessary for protection against the sun; and then a mosquito net, which we could not do without either.

We set course for the coast of Africa.

After a visit in Egypt we went through the Suez Canal and into the Red Sea, where we had two stops, in Djibouti and Aden. In these areas there had been a serious drought. In Aden it was said that it hadn't rained for seven years. Here I saw landscapes which resembled those I was later to live in as a missionary in Zululand.

The next stop on our journey was the island of Mahé in the well-known

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Seychelles group of islands. Here we saw the fantastic botanical gardens with, among other things, some colossal tortoises which the keeper said were 300 years old. Six men could stand on them while they wandered on, quite unaffected.

Altogether an outward journey very rich in experiences.

Beyond Aden we sailed into furiously bad weather. The heavy seas sent most people below decks and to bed with the agony of seasickness. For some reason or other I have always been a good sailor, and I managed fine this time to0. I went to table to all the meals in a dining-room where on the worst days there were only six or seven people who felt the need to share the joys of the table, although we were in fact a whole little crowd of us on board the 7000-ton freighter, among them several Roman Catholic missionaries.

What remained was to wait for the sighting of land. This time it would be Madagascar, which for more than half of my nearly 29-year-long life I had looked forward to seeing.

We reached Diego Suarez, a town on the most northerly point of that large island. We had to go ashore for a few days to wait for the local boat which was to take us further. The Hodnefjeld family parted from us here; they were going to their field on the East Coast. After some days the liner came, and I continued to Ambohibé, where I had been told to go ashore.

The West Coast missionaries were gathered for their conference. It wasn't a big crowd, and I'll list them:

Olaf and Johanne Nome with their daughter Dagny, Tallak and Anne Nome with their son Trygve, Kristine Fagereng, who was a widow, Peder Nilssen

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Naastad, who had left his wife and his children in Norway, and Emil and Olene Birkeli with their son Ottar. Olaf Nome had left his wife and five children in Norway, and the Birkelis had left their son Fridtjov at home.

So it was no large conference, but all the same the days were filled with business, meetings for edification and church services in the nearest surroundings.

On account of the fact that the liner came only once per month, we had to remain in Ambohibé nearly a month. For me those weeks were extremely interesting. I got the first glimpses of mission work and the problems the missionaries had to contend with. Both the meeting with the natives and with my colleagues were the fulfilment of many longings.

I soon understood that the shortage of personnel was great. That assured me that I would not lack tasks. Earlier the difficult situation had released a heart sigh to Norway and the secretariat of NMS for more workers. The reply we had received from Lars Dahle was quite sharp: "We can't manufacture missionaries from the soil".

It was decided that I was to run polyclinical work in Ambohibé, but first I was to go with the Olaf Nome family to Tuléar to study Malagasy.

There was great terror in the band of missionaries and elsewhere on the island when one day we learned that war had broken out in Europe, the world war which was to last until 1918.

The report we received created extra anxiety for those who had children and spouses at home. The rumours whirled, and it was said that there was a German warship off the coast of Madagascar, which was governed by the French at that time.

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That meant that when the liner eventually arrived, we had to go southwards without lanterns, but it was a bright moonlight night. We saw no warship, all of us arrived safely at Tuléar far south on the island: the newly elected representative Olaf Nome with his family, the retiring representa-tive Peder Naastad, and I.

In Tuléar the confusion was great. This was an administrative town with many Frenchmen. Here there was also a large supply of money stored which caused the Frenchmen much racking of brains. It was decided that it must be sent inland. A whole gang of bearers had to be mobilised to manage this as the cash was in silver. The transport was furnished with a substan-tial police escort, and I never heard anything but that all went well.

The wife of the French doctor in town lamented what had happened in Europe. She came to Mrs. Nome and was quite perturbed.

"Have you heard that the Germans are now attacking Paris? You've seen that beautiful town of ours; now it will be an easy prey for them. My God, how will this end?"

As we know from history, there was no attack on Paris, and the fear that Tuléar would be bombarded was also groundless. The German warship was later sunk off the coast of Africa, where it lies in one of the large river mouths.

Little by little life returned to its usual pattern, but for us Norsemen it wasn't easy to settle down. Half a year passed before we heard anything from Norway. During this time not a single letter arrived.

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IN JOY AND IN SORROW

I had at last reached Madagascar safely. Ahead of me I saw the many tasks. I was sure I was now to spend most of my life on that large island in the Indian Ocean. But only a few months were to pass before my stay ended abruptly. I had in no way imagined that God's ways would lead me thus. Fortunately. Otherwise I would probably not have gone ahead so eagerly learning Malagasy. Once at high school many years earlier I had felt that I had got far with my education when I understood a bit of English and German. Now I began afresh with a new language which was totally different from those I already knew.

I looked about me in the new country with searching eyes. This was to be my second fatherland. Was it beautiful here? I didn't think there was much to boast of, compared with the country from which I had come. But certainly it was interesting to meet this strange world, so totally different from that which I was used t0. The people were friendly and open; they gave me a hearty welcome.

My heart rejoiced that I was at journey's

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end. The first day in Tuléar, 8 August, I wrote in my diary.

"To think that God has actually allowed me to get here! I think back to the years of my childhood when I for the first time heard about the Sakalavas from old Röstvig. At that time there was no female missionary in Tuléar, and I wished that I could go out to live among the young girls."

The second day after my arrival there was divine service. It was a lovely sunny Sunday. The lovely mission station church was filled with freshly washed and dressed up Sakalavas. Barely a month later, 7 september, it would be 4O years since the first missionaries came to this nation. Wasn't it a wonder that the church could be filled, that the idols had been exchanged for the Cross? I was moved to tears at the sight of the many natives in the house of God, even though I didn't understand a word of what was being said.

The heat and the mosquitoes I had to get used to as soon as possible; there were enough of both of them here. I'm sure I could stand more heat at that time than I do now. All the doors in the house had an extra gauze door on the inside, and in front of every window there was gauze as well. It helped to keep the mosquitoes out. At night it was important to get into bed under the mosquito net without the little pests following.

We had no defence against mosquitoes. They entered everywhere, although we were as careful as we could possibly be. I was told not to scratch myself, but that was easier said than done. It wasn't

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long before my legs were full of scratches and sores.

At the mouth of the river which flows through Tuléar, there were marshes overgrown with thorn bushes. They were an eldorado for the mos-quitoes and the cockroaches, another pest which visited us the whole year round. They crawled under doors and through cracks so small that it was incomprehensible how they got through, for they were generally an inch or one and a half inches long. It was totally impossible to keep them away from the food cupboards. One evening the kitchen was full of them. They swarmed around me so I had to keep both my hands over my head. There was no hope of clearing the kitchen of them. It was just a matter of waiting until they had hidden themselves.

The missionaries who went out on tour couldn't avoid developing malaria. I remember Olaf Nome came home sick and had to go to bed. He could drink only hot tea. We used quinine as a preventative, but didn't want to take too much of it. I didn't go out on tour, so I escaped getting malaria.

The sand was probably the reason that I didn't consider the landscape pretty. All of Tuléar was built on sand. The landscape changed according as the wind moved the sand dunes. The streets had a kind of paving. If we stepped beyond it we might sink to our knees. The town-well had once been bricked to a suitable height above the ground. Now the sand had been blown away, so one had to climb to reach the edge when one was fetching water.

I thought it fun to take walks on the sand dunes which lay around the town. The sand sometimes hardened until

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it was like snow we could walk on. Then the "ridge" might disappear; the wind had moved it.

The vegetation was sparse. Green grass I didn't see. In the swamps there was thorny scrub and apart from that the town had some huge trees. The natives took good care of these tamarind trees. A circle of stones was built up around them so the sand wouldn't blow away.

Apart from that I think that the sand helped to promote cleanliness among the people. Sand has the ability to suck to itself all kinds of filth. When children ran outside and did the necessary it wasn't long before it disappeared.

Otherwise people were good at utilising the possibilities they had for keeping themselves clean. I had perhaps not expected it after the accounts I had heard from Röstvig.

Water was precious. When the summer rain came, the water tank at the mission station house filled to overflowing. We put out all the receptacles we had to catch more. The winter, or time of drought, could last for six months, and then it was necessary to have a water-carrier working full-time. In order to prevent the mosquitoes from laying eggs in the tank we poured paraffin on the water surface.

Nome sent water-carriers by "laka" down along the coast to a place where there was a little spring of good water, but I can't remember that that water was really any better.

The first houses on the west coast of Madagascar had been brought by the mission ships from Norway. They had to be erected on stone pillars for protection against those greedy termites which attack all timber. At regular

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intervals the stone pillars had to be scraped clear of the termite tunnels so they wouldn't reach the timber.

The "laka" is a vessel I got to know as soon as I arrived on Madagascar. In many of the harbours both people and effects are put ashore in such vessels on account of the long shallow sandbanks. A laka is a hollowed-out tree trunk. They are so narrow that things didn't always go well when large packages had to be trans-shipped. Once I remember that I saw a stove disappear overboard. The laka has an outrigger which makes it steady, and the speed is fine as long as there is a good wind.

It didn't always go well. I remember that just before Christmas the first year, we had an unexpected trip to a town further south, Saint-Augus-tin. The American missionary, Pastor Malvik, brought a very sick little child to Tuléar to seek medical help. The next day his wife arrived as well, bringing their baby. She was anxious about her sick child. Their assistant woman missionary was then left alone, and she wasn't well, either. So they sent me down to stay with her. In that way I got a fine laka trip.

We set out before sunrise. Three strong Sakalava boys were the crew. They carried me out to the craft. That morning there was no wind at all. The little sail hung limp. The rising sun played on the surf outside. Everything was lovely, but we could not move from the spot. It was only well into the day that the wind arose and bore us quickly inwards to the sandy shore in the Saint-Augustin Bay.

It was strange to come to this station, which had been established by the Norseman, Michael Andreassen.

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The struggle to build a station in the unhealthy climatic conditions resulted in the early death of that hopeful and promising young man. He lies buried there at Saint-Augustin. In the same grave his own child rests. The pioneers often had to pay a high price to follow their calling.

Andreassen's young widow was born Hærem. She was a cousin of my husband's first wife and had the same Christian name (of course I didn't know anything about that at that time). Ragnhild Andreassen went home and became a deaconess. She spent many years at the home for lepers at Mangarano. I met her at the Mission School when she was home on leave in 1913.

There wasn't much of outward Christmas atmosphere. I returned from Saint-Augustin and found, not a decorated spruce, but a swaying bay tree. Instead of snow and crisp Norwegian winter air we had loose sand heated by the burning rays of the sun. There was no baking and slaughtering; in that suffocating heat we had to live from day to day. Food could not be kept. The cook bought a bit of meat at the market; I think he got a couple of potatoes as well; otherwise we had manioc, a plant with nourishing roots.

I remember Christmas morning at home when Father harnessed both the horses and we drove the long road to church, either across the ice or a-round the water, as a rule with two sleds in order that as many as possible should get room. We were frozen blue, despite all the clothes we wore.

And here? We went to church in sunhats and our

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thinnest dresses. All the same we perspired so that there wasn't a dry spot on our bodies. But the Saviour can create a Christmas feeling even so. He can fill heart and soul with joy at the Message. The song of praise from the fields of Bethlehem reached us just as surely here.

On New Year's Day thoughts went homewards; it was exactly a year since I had left. I remembered the faces around the breakfast table, Mother who did the very best she could for us. Poor Mother, already so white-haired!

Into a new year with continued cramming and reading that difficult language. In my opinion I made slow progress. Many a time I was close to giving up; had to sort of make a mighty effort to convince myself and the others that I could manage it. I was determined to manage it.

My teacher was the Malagasy Abela Malanjaona, a competent young man who taught me through the medium of French. His father was an evangelist and a very close friend and co-worker of Olaf Nome. I think he must have been clever; at least he managed to teach me a good deal.

One of the first weeks I was in Tuléar, it was in the beginning of September, his little boy died. It happened during the night. He cried out in his pain, while his young wife Christina was more composed. She spoke comfortingly to him, and little by little he calmed down.

When the little flower-bedecked coffin stood on the church floor, his face lit up with clarity and peace. He had found strength in his sorrow and was able to rise in church and speak to his relatives about God's love.

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The child was to be a "golden thread" which drew them all home and upwards towards heaven, said he.

Abela and his wife later had another son whom they called Solo. That means "put in the place of".

Regrettably things didn't go so well later in life for Abela. He who once was a keen young Christian, clever and diligent in the work of the congregation, met adversity which led him astray. He lost his Christina, and more things happened. In any case many years later I learned that he had committed suicide, poor man. He shot himself on Christina's grave.

Abela had a sister, Tamara, who was Mrs. Nome's nursemaid. I chatted a lot to her, and we became good friends. She understood how important it was to explain things to us. Many natives who themselves have never been in a foreign place, can't readily understand this.

Besides the language studies I participated as best I could in the work. The sewing-machine from Norway came in handy and became a useful appliance in the women's work. I helped both Mrs. Nome and the natives with sewing. Constantly the natives visited us, and we ourselves made house visits to the people in different parts of the town.

We got on very well, Mrs. Nome and I. Especially the many times of prayer stand out for me as among some of the pleasantest on Madagascar. We agreed to join the prayer circle of the women missionaries. Every first Sunday of the month is a regular day of prayer. I had tried to observe the day the year I was out in the world, but alone is alone. Now we were two of us. Later on we got several Americans who were working in the Lutheran Free Church in Mahafali to join with us.

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We noted the ripple effects of the war in several ways. The fact that we didn't receive mail was the worst for us foreigners. The whole half year without a letter felt awfully long. Why didn't Mother write? Or were the letters getting lost? One has a lot of different thoughts waiting like that.

I myself sent letters regularly the whole time. Many a time I wished that I could reach more people with a little letter, but it all takes time. What my sister once wrote is quite right: "Letters have their mission, they too."

We suffered no need during the war; we had everything we needed the whole time. The Greek and the Arab businessmen stocked what people needed of different goods, and at the market there were meat and rice. Potatoes and vegetables we seldom saw.

The problems in connection with getting money sent out resulted in the work progressing more slowly. Many of the workers didn't get remuneration for long periods of time, and it had its effect.

While I was in Tuléar, the Nomes' seventh child was born, who was called Tordis. I had the pleasure of carrying her to be christened. They had left five children behind in Norway, and had brought only the youngest out with them.

One morning in August something unexpected happened. When I got up in the morning, my mouth filled with blood. I spat it out into the toilet bucket, but it filled up again at once. The French doctor was sent for. His opinion was that there must be a sore in a lung, the result of the dreadful cold I had had in Paris. I was ordered to bed with strong medicines and with the doctor's instruction that I must get away from

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Madagascar, to the mainland, where there was a healthier climate and better possibilities for recovery.

To get there was easier said than done in war-time. All regular con-nections had been discontinued. I waited for a ship for many weeks. In the mean time I took the medicines and had "dry cups" on my chest. The air is sucked out of a cup in such a way that it "sits" on the skin.

On 20 August I wrote in my diary:

"'Sorrow and joy wander together', says the old hymn verse, and surely many experience the truth of these words. The joy at having got so far in Malagasy that I would soon get my own work is suddenly exchanged for sorrow over being ill. Useless, useless is such a hard word. I thought there lay a long working life awaiting me and perhaps a life of uselessness lies a-head of me, a life burdensome to others."

Despair descended over me since I continued:

"O, spare me this, God! Let me get well again, or take me home to you! Nevertheless you know what serves for my good."

Then I got the grace and the strength to end the notes with the well-known words from Psalm 25:10: "All the Lord's ways are mercy and faithfulness towards those who keep His covenant and His testimony."

On 17 November I boarded the ship the Bagdad, which sailed towards Durban in South Africa a few days later. It was painful to say good-bye to my many friends, but it was even worse to leave Madagascar, which had been in my thoughts for so long.

God knows that I wept!
 
 

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MALAGASIES EXCHANGED FOR ZULUS

The first days at sea were storm-filled. Even I had to stay in bed. It grew calmer the closer we drew to the African mainland, but what on this sorrowful journey could put courage into me? The thought that I would return?

My call had been to Madagascar; I was in no doubt about that. So things would surely turn out in such a way that I would be able to return after a period of convalescence.

My Malagasy study books were in my suitcase. For me the stay in South Africa was a question of learning enough English to be able to manage on my own there, and then using the time to get well and to continue the study of Malagasy.

With such thoughts I set foot on South African soil, entirely ignorant of the fact the here I was to live the rest of my many days of life. Here my children would settle; here a branch of the family would be carried further.

I reached Durban, that large port in the province of Natal, which at that time was one of the four provinces of the Union of South Africa. It was decided that I was to remain here for the time being.

Pastor Gunerius Bovim met me at the docks and

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piloted me home to his wife Anna, where I felt caringly welcome. They lived right close to the dock area where he had his work among the seamen and the many permanent residents in the St. Olav congregation. (It wasn't yet called that. I.G.)

In the town there was a "Home" for the children of the Norwegian Zululand missionaries. The NMS had bought a house in Bellevue Road where two Norwegian ladies were the "aunts" in charge. The missionaries went there to visit their children and make purchases in the town.

Among the many colleagues I met, there were the three Madagascar missionaries Andrea Ofstad, Olga and August Östby. They had arrived from Norway to return to their work on the west coast of Madagascar. They were waiting for a ship, and in the mean time stayed in the missionary home called "Concord", which belonged to the American Board Mission. That's where I too was able to stay.

Just before Christmas transport was arranged for them. Later on I learned that it had been insufferably hot on board, as it can be at these latitudes when summer sets in properly at Christmas-time. The ship didn't get there by Christmas. They had to celebrate the festival in an almost murderous heat right close to land. To refresh themselves, even if only in spirit, they sang the good old Norwegian Christmas carol: "Outside are cold and deep snow." (Derute kulden er og dyben sne.) Who knows? Perhaps it helped.

The fellowship with the three Madagascar missionaries helped me to regain my equilibrium. Slowly my belief that all would go well returned. It seemed to me that life became lighter.

It wasn't only the mental which had to be healed.

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I was sent to a doctor for a new thorough examination of the lungs. The specialist said that a lung haemorrhage was quite a serious matter. He recommended a stay in Basutoland, in that fresh mountain air there. As far as I remember, he couldn't say if it was tuberculosis.

We contacted French missionaries in the country, and the journey was soon organized.

Well, I would accept what was coming.

It would be interesting to get a glimpse of this mountainous country right in the middle of Southern Africa, which we had read quite a lot about at the Mission School. Here many mountains reached higher than the Norwegi-an peaks, round and grass-clad right to the top. People live at about 1 500 m. above sea level. It is dry up here, lovely fresh air for the one who comes from the steaming heat of the coast of Madagascar.

Today Basutoland is called Lesotho and is an independent kingdom which is surrounded by South Africa on all sides. By and large the people who live here are dependent on their mighty neighbour for work. They themselves have to date few possibilities of livelihood other than cattle-rearing and agriculture.

Then as now the horse was the means of transport that got a traveller farthest in that roadless mountain land, the Switzerland of Africa.

My stay was arranged through the French Protestant Mission. To reach my destination I had first to catch the train to the well-known town Bloemfontein, then go by post-cart and lastly by horse-drawn means. En route I had to spend the night in a little country town called Mafeteng.

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Here I found accommodation with a family with a lot of children who had a Danish governess, a young girl who longed for home. My suitcases arrived ahead of me. From the address label she concluded that I was a Scandinavian. She was movingly happy to meet me and to speak her mother tongue for a little while. (Marit spoke Dano-Norwegian. I.G.)

Our acquaintanceship developed into friendship through letter-writing. In the course of the years, however, fewer and fewer letters passed between us, and one fine day the contact was lost.

But life is strange. A few years ago I met her by chance again. She lives now in Johannesburg and is a widow with many social interests. So we have contact again! I see God's hand in this, for she is battling with spiritual and eternal questions. I pray that I may be of help to her.

The next day I continued inland in the mountainous country. Horse transport took me to the mission station Tabana Morena, where the French missionaries had their large boarding-school for girls. For four months I experienced fine spiritual fellowship both with the missionaries and with the natives.

The Basuto are a separate nation consisting of several clans. Many of them came up into the mountains as fugitives during the wars in Southern Africa in the 19th century. The Boers tried to subjugate the land, but failed. The French missionaries advised the natives at that time to seek English protection, and the country thus became a British Protectorate until independence in 1960.

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The people whom I got to know were open, friendly and hospitable. The language they speak, siSutho, is different from isiZulu. I made no effort to learn it; I had more than enough to do continuing the study of Malagasy. Conversation was conducted in English which was the official language of the country, or French, two languages of which I had gradually gained a fair knowledge.

What I've always thought back on with the greatest pleasure in connection with my stay in the little mountain country, is the wonderful open air life. It was of course to get the benefit of that that I had come. I availed myself of every opportunity to go for long walks and enjoy the fresh air. The school invited me to go with them on their outings, to0. A son of one missionary family taught me the art of horse-back riding. That I would find useful as a Zululand missionary, but here it was of course only for pleasure and recreation.

In the evenings we got together for times of pleasure. We sang and made music. There I heard English hymns for the first time. Devotions were always a part of these evenings.

A South African teacher at the school was my age, and we chatted a lot. She told me about her country and gave me a little survey of the political life which interested her very much. I don't remember much of it now; I was probably thinking more of the Malagasies.

The French missionaries were so friendly as to invite me to their conference. We travelled fifty kilometres to the place of the conference, Moria. This was the centre of the work of the French

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mission. Here they had their printing press, the school for evangelists, the school for ministers, besides the large primary school and the high school. Everything was led by French missionaries with the full co-operation of the natives.

Life in the mountain air did me good. I felt well and strong when I returned to Durban in May 1916. I was fully determined to travel to Madagascar as soon as possible. First I was to be examined afresh by the specialist, so that it could be established that I had fully recovered.

He was satisfied with my progress after the stay at the high altitude, but to return to Madagascar was out of the question. "That would be suicide", he said.

So there was nothing more to be said about that. The Sakalava girls would have to manage without me. Had my call then been a false alarm all these years? Had I misunderstood God? Should I have remained at home?

At such times we human beings are full of so many questions. We don't understand God's ways and His plans for us. Thus it was with me to0. With the passing of years many of the questions have been answered.

That year the missionary conference was to be in Durban. Here it was decided that I was to be transferred to the Zululand mission field. We received telegraphic confirmation from the NMS in Stavanger that all was in order. They had been kept informed about my condition the whole time. This solution to the matter was the most natural.

For me it meant a transposition in many ways, but first and foremost that I had to tackle the study of a new language.

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In order that I should get better acquainted with the conditions under which the missionaries worked in Zululand, I was invited to the home of the experienced missionaries Severine Lisabeth, "Lisa", as we all called her, and Nils Braatvedt at Ngoye, one of the oldest mission stations. They were old then and preparing for break-up and a life on pension. Both died later in South Africa.

They were good people, those two, I felt the warmth of their hearts from the very first. Their children, three sons and one daughter, had all left home. The fourth boy was in a psychiatric hospital, and there he re-mained all his life. I once asked his mother about him. She had told me so much about the others, but not about the youngest.

"Oh, Karl, he is hidden in my heart."

After my stay with these good folks I reached the KwaMondi Mission Station at Eshowe, where I was to live at Dorthea E. Tvedt's at the girls' hostel. She was the widow of the missionary priest John M. Tvedt, who died quite young on furlough in Norway in 1910. She herself had come to this country as an immigrant in 1882, only five months old. She worked for the Mission until she went on pension.

Now I was to tackle language studies in earnest with the missionary priest Peder Aage Rödseth as my teacher. He was the manager of the station at KwaMondi and lived there with his wife and nine children.

At the girls' hostel we had about ten young teenage girls from poor homes. They were fed and clothed, if necessary. By day they attended school. I learned a lot being there

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with them; they were a good addition to the formal instruction.

It was a difficult language I had tackled this time, worse than Malagasy, I thought. To explain how, is not so easy, for these languages are constructed in an entirely different way from those we know in Europe. For example, the Zulu language has nine different classes of nouns, two of them for abstract ones. Each class has its own prefix.

The language is however very logically constructed, strict and consis-tent in its grammar. It belongs to the Bantu languages, but it differs from the rest in that family of languages in that it has several different click sounds. Many people consider these clicks the worst part of Zulu, but that is not so. Once learned, they're easy. That applies to the most common ones. A couple of them are so difficult that I have always tried to avoid using them.

Otherwise the language has a vocabulary so large that we can learn only a little part of it. Since olden times the Zulus have had, for example, several hundred ways of saying "cow" or "cattle". With just one word they could describe how the cow looked, according to age, colour, whether it was spotted or not, what shape its horns had and so forth. I am told that they had 36 ways of saying "stick", according to its usage.

"To look" they could describe in different ways. They had different words for how a cow looks for grass, how it is to look with running eyes and many more.

How many of these words could we learn? It was merely a fraction, but of course enough to

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make ourselves understood. The Leisegang family were missionaries for two generations. Their children were born out here, grew up with the natives and spoke the language just as well as the Zulus themselves. I remember that the missionary priest Theodor Leisegang just for fun boasted that he could speak Zulu in such a way that none of us would understand. I believe it. He knew so many words which we didn't know from our daily conversation.

True enough this great wealth of vocabulary has mainly to do with the things that the Zulus knew as heathen. Their fortune comprised wives, children and cattle and what they cultivated and lived on. Here their greatest interests lay, and here the language was richest, but for those who were to translate the Bible, it meant enormous problems in finding words and expressions to cover religious concepts.

One of the reasons for the large vocabulary is that the Zulus regularly change it to respect or honour individuals. The missionary priest 0. Stavem writes about this in a book he published for the 70th anniversary of the mission in Zululand. If a woman is married to a man whose name is Mbube (lion), she has to find another word for lion in order to honour her husband. If the chief's name is ULanga (sun), the whole tribe has to find another word for the sun.

Stavem tells us that a certain tribe at the coast called the sun "idonzela" more than a hundred years after a chief named ULanga had died.

That difficult language brought with it many misunderstandings and strange episodes both for missionaries and other immigrants to this country. It was told of a certain woman on one of the farms in Zululand, and

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I believe it readily, that she one day sent the servant boy out to the fowlrun to fetch eggs, which errand had an outcome other than the one she had intended.

"Eggs" are called "amaqanda" with a "q" which is a click sound, while "heads" are called "amakhanda" with a "k" sound, which has no click.

The boy protested against the instruction as loudly as he dared, but the madam would not be gainsaid. The boy had to do as she demanded.

So of course there was a dreadful to-do when the boy returned from the yard with six chicken heads. The woman was furious and dragged the boy with her to the magistrate, who was the nearest authority. Here the misunderstanding was quite speedily explained, and the boy escaped punishment.

Once when we were on holiday we had got hold of a native girl to help us to mind the children. It was a Sunday morning, we were hurrying to get to the service in the church. While the children were being washed and dressed, I went out to the kitchen to see how the roast for dinner was faring. The girl was minding the oven.

I said something like the following to her, translated:

"Have you been converted into meat?"

"Dear me," was her only comment, otherwise she made the best of it.

The mistake was that I had used a passive form instead of an active. "Phendula" means to turn something, while "phenduka" means to be converted. It's not easy to keep the different forms apart when they are so alike. Instead of asking if she had turned the meat, I had asked if she had been turned, turned into meat.

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It was well done of them that they kept straight faces. I can well imagine that they regaled each other with such stories when they were on their own.

To use the present tense is the easiest. When I had to conjugate the verbs for other tenses it was immediately more difficult. If I had to say such difficult things as "I should have been" or "would have been", it required the greatest exertions to get them to understand what I meant. Even today after more than 60 years in this country, I have difficulty managing this satisfactorily.

Language could give rise to nicknames for us. When Martinus Haldorsen was new out here, he often went about practising the clicks. Thus he got the nickname which consists of clicks, "Nqanqane". Freely translated it would be "the clicker". The natives used nicknames for all the missionaries and probably for other Whites as well. The name was generally very charac-teristic and hit the nail on the head. Many Whites knew their "Zulu" names and were amused by them.

My husband was called "The eagle", assuredly because there were not many things which escaped his notice. Johan Kjelvei was called "He with the stick". He used to walk with a long staff when he was outside. The word they used for stick could also mean a Cross, one woman explained to me. "It is a lovely name he has," said she.

Braatvedt was called "Crooked-legged". He walked a lot, and when he set off it would look as though he walked crookedly. Lisa was called "The engine", and that suited her well, because of her driving force.

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The missionary priest Strömme was called "Pepper"; he could be sharp at times. Otherwise he was a very kind man; but it didn't take much to acquire a nickname.

What they called me, I don't know.

While I was at the girls' hostel with Dorthea Tvedt, there was a report from T.M. Leisegang, who was in charge of the large teachers' college at Umphumulo, that Sofie Kyvik had developed rheumatic fever. She was house-mother for the girls at the school. Dorthea must go there at once to take her place. With that, I had to take responsibility for the girls at the hostel.

It wasn't a difficult job. The girls were good. They had their roster of chores they had to d0. When they came home from school and had had a meal, they had to work in the field for a while. Here beans, cabbages and amadumbe were planted, and they had to be tended and weeded. In the evenings they sat doing home-work. When it was bed-time, they got out their mats and blankets, rolled themselves into them and slept on the floor.

I continued my Zulu lessons with Rödseth. I had such respect for the teacher that I hardly dared look at him. Progress wasn't fast, but I did indeed learn some new words every day. In due course I could say a few simple sentences, but, worse luck, it was far more difficult to understand what was said to me.

It was strange to think that I was not going back to Madagascar, but I couldn't do anything but accept peacefully that that was how it was. God surely had His purpose in it. I had no anxiety about the future.

Ragnhild Rödseth I chatted to every day.

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She was busy with preparations for the annual missionary conference. A few things I could help her do, such as sew mattress covers and fill them with hay.

One Sunday we were sitting in church, I noticed that she looked tired. It was then decided that she was to take an Easter holiday with the children. We sincerely wished it for her.

During that holiday the terrible disaster occurred, so totally incon-ceivable. We who knew that happy family, can never forget it. To this day my heart aches whenever I think of that tragedy.
 
 
 
 

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". . . . that sad calamity"

The station at KwaMondi near Eshowe is beautifully situated on a height in the lowlands. On clear days we can see the sun shining on the Indian Ocean. Around the station the broken Zulu landscape stretches with Zulu kraals in every valley and on every slope.

Today the landscape is cut up by modern motorways. The trip to Durban takes only a couple of hours by car. In my day it was a day's journey by train. Before that - at the time when Ommund Oftebro settled there - it was the ox-waggon which was the only means of transport. In the worst cases the trip to the town could take several weeks. Much depended on how the rivers were. If there was a flood, they had to wait for a lowered level of water. The rivers were one of the biggest dangers for travellers at that time. In the course of the years many people have lost their lives crossing the large and temperamental waterways, which were full of crocodiles, to0.

The missionary priest Ommund Oftebro and other missionaries had to leave Zululand in 1878 on account of war, naturally with the thought that they would return to their stations. All of them were waiting for better times for the spreading of the gospel. In the mean time, during the war the station at KwaMondi was commandeered and

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used as a fort by the Englishmen, and after that it was burned down and left in ruins by Cetshwayo.

After the war the station was rebuilt a little further north, so that it now lies five kilometres from Eshowe town. Today the place is a "black spot", that means that only natives are allowed to live there. The schools have been taken over by the State, and on the station area itself the national, independent church carries on the work.

Today in the house where I had my home for so many years, lives the priest Mbuli, who is in charge of the Bible School. For me this shows that things are going the right way; it's the natives themselves who must take over as they become mature enough to do s0. The Bible School has been given the name of the first martyr, Maqamusela Lutheran Bible School.

At the conference in Durban in 1916 it was decided that the next year we were to gather at KwaMondi. It necessitated long and thorough prepar-ations when the whole group of missionaries with their families were to get together. Mrs. Ragnhild Rödseth was in charge of the work. She knew what was required of food and beds. Mattresses had to be sewn, bed bases had to be made, and where all were to sleep had to be planned.

It was difficult to keep food for any length of time, but preserving and canning of both fruit and berries was undertaken. There was a lot needed when 13-14 families were to be together for 10 days.

The conference was set for 10th May. During the summer, which is winter at home in Norway, Mrs. Rödseth had not been well. She felt indis-posed and tired. We were therefore glad when it was decided that she was to get an Easter holiday. Rödseth

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himself could not spare the time to go with them. He was to hold a series of divine services during Easter.

Ragnhild went to the seaside with six of the children, transported by ox-waggon by a young German neighbour, Herman Gebers, who down through the years was a close friend of the family. The two oldest boys were to arrive at the end of the week, while the youngest girl was to spend Easter at her grandparents' at Doonside.

The family's destination was a well-known bathing-place at the mouth of the Matikhulu River. Here they set up camp and looked forward to their holiday.

On Easter Sunday morning Ragnhild gathered the children around her and read the Easter gospel with them. Then they went to bathe. Then that terrible disaster struck.

Mrs. Ragnhild and the two oldest of her three daughters, Esther aged 22 and Helga aged 19, were drowned simultaneously. (A fourth lady as well.) Where the actual course of the happening is concerned, I shall quote what Mission priest Rödseth himself wrote to the NMS General Secretary Lars Dahle a few days after the disaster. The letter was published in the Mission Tidings together with an obituary written by Dahle. The letter is dated Doonside 21 April 1917.

"Dear Secretary Dahle!

Presumably the Superintendent telegraphed home about the sad tragedy which occurred on Easter Day afternoon, in that my dear wife and my two oldest daughters drowned in the Matikhulu River while bathing. One of the ladies, undoubtedly English, slipped into a deep furrow and the others ran to rescue her. In their bewilderment they must have pulled each other under water."

Thus he describes what happened. Further down in the long letter he says that he "during the night

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was awakened by an automobile and driven to the place of the disaster. It was a doleful report I was given. But the Lord gave me strength to comfort my mourning children. The two smallest lay sleeping. When I awakened them, Claus, who will soon be 7½ years old says : 'Pappa, we must not think a lot for then we'll weep.' And little Haakon, who is over 4½ years old, comforted me by saying, 'When we die, we shall see them again.' When I walked along the beach with them that night, Claus began to reckon: 'Before, we were 11 of us; now three are gone, won't we be 8 of us left?' These the sermons of the dear minors I shall never forget, but try to live by them. I must not think a lot about my great loss, but all the more about all the love, happiness and pleasure I have enjoyed all these years."

Further on in the letter: "And then I must think of meeting them again. We became engaged on the eve of Easter 25 years ago and we parted one Easter Day. Easter stills the sorrow. It brings the message of resurrection and life, victory over death and the grave. And then I must think of the fact that I still have seven left. For them I must live, and for my calling. I dare not let sorrow unfit me for service. My Father in heaven will not take His Hand away from me in my great need, but allow this, too, to serve for my good. He will hear our cry and the many, many who at this time remind Him of our great sorrow."

It was a man who in his great need had experienced comfort and help from the Lord Himself, who wrote that letter. In the earliest days after the tragedy he was borne up by superhuman strength. He went direct from the place of the disaster back to the station, where he held the divine service on the second day of Easter.

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In the station diary he noted on that day, 9 April: "Preached a short sermon and baptized two little children. Have written a lot of letters."

Reaction came. For him many melancholy days followed. I know that for many years he could not look at pictures of the three who had gone, without his eyes welling with tears.

On the station it was suddenly quieter. Before, in the evenings that large family had gathered for musical entertainment. The two big girls played the piano, and Fredrik sang.

Outside they had a fine tennis court which they had organized them-selves. Now the happy shouts and the cheerful laughter were gone.

The seven children he now still had were: Margrethe 1O years old, Claus and Haakon, the eldest boy Fredrik 2O years old, Peter 17 years, Ragnar 15 and Aage 13. The two eldest boys had employment in Eshowe and lived at home.

In addition to that large family of children that hospitable family had an old lady living with them, Mrs. Loftheim. It fell to Rödseth's lot to tell her what had happened. The following is more or less as he repeated the conversation to me:

"An accident has occurred. Ragnhild is dead."

"You still have Esther then," was the reply.

"No, she is also dead."

"Then you still have Helga."

"No, I haven't her either."

"Alas, alas," sighed the old lady. She could find no more words.

Personally I got the news in Durban. I had gone

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there to spend Easter and have a little break. My old friends the Braatvedts had bought a house and settled there as pensioners.

On Easter Monday we had gone to the lovely big beach to sun ourselves. The weather was wonderful. Braatvedt had brought with him a book and was reading aloud to us when Pastor Bovim suddenly came storming along the beach towards us. He was waving a telegram wildly. At that time there were neither motorcars nor telephones in Eshowe, so a telegram was the only possibility for sending urgent messages.

The news was dreadful. We went home to Pastor Bovim's at once and there we had an affecting time of prayer. The next morning we caught the train to Eshowe to attend the funeral.

The three bodies had been brought home to Eshowe and lay in their coffins. It was a big funeral. Black and white friends gathered, all united in pain and sorrow at the great loss. Ragnhild had been a woman who never spared herself. She had lived an active and busy life at KwaMondi; hospi-table and friendly, she had entertained innumerable guests. In addition she with her warm-hearted interest in missions was of invaluable support to her husband in his calling, a fact which Lars Dahle underlined in the obituary he wrote in the Mission Tidings.

In the church at KwaMondi the pensioned missionary priest Sven Erik-sen, a close friend of Rödseth, spoke. The coffins were taken the few hundred metres over to the Norwegian cemetery, where so many countrymen before and since then have found their last resting-places. Braatvedt spoke at the graveside.

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Here too Rödseth had the strength to say a few words. He stood there with one hand on the head of one of his smallest boys.

After the funeral he went to his sister Anna Friis-Nielsen at Doonside near Durban for a while. The two eldest boys continued to live at home with their father. A native maid took care of them for a while; later Mrs. Kristine Fagereng arrived from Madagascar on holiday and took over the house-keeping for the three menfolk for several months. On account of the war she could not travel to Norway on furlough.

Thus life gradually began to take its usual course.

The conference was not moved elsewhere. Most of the preparations were already completed, and a Norwegian lady, Mrs. Fredrikke Steenberg, under-took the tasks and duties of hostess. In order to make it all as simple as possible, it was by and large only the active missionaries who attended. Most of them left their families at home.

At the conference they discussed what was to be done with me in the future. No decision was taken as to placing me. I was to continue studying the language, but the question was raised whether one really should demand the same of female as of male workers where language was concerned!

Bovim would have none of it. "Miss Södahl should get the best education in the language."

The conference resolved that I was to continue living at Eshowe and take the time I needed for language study.

After a while Dorthea Tvedt returned to her work at the girls' hostel and I continued my studies at Esinyamboti, a station which lies at a high altitude with a glorious view over the Tugela Valley. It was the minister-ial couple Kirsten and Peter A. Strömme who managed the station. Strömme became my new guide in the Zulu language. (Marit fled from Eshowe when she sensed that her teacher's interest in her was becoming personal. I.G.)
 
 
 
 

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A LETTER OF PROPOSAL AND MARRIAGE

Missionary priest Peder Aage Rödseth, who became a widower so tragically in 1917, was born in Ålesund, but came to South Africa already as a 13-year old. He belonged to the Norwegian emigrants who in 1882 came that long way over the sea from West Norway to seek their fortunes on the Indian Ocean coast of Natal.

There were hard times back home in Norway. Many people left the country, most of them for America, to find a better livelihood and a brighter future in other countries.

At this time the knowledge of South Africa also increased in Norway. Especially those who were interested in mission work could read comments on the country and the people who lived there, in the Mission Tidings. In 1864 the mission supporters had shown foresight and built the mission ship, the Elieser, and the following year the vessel made its first voyage taking missionaries to Zululand. Captain N. Landmark, incidentally the grandfather of one of my sons-in-law, was a pious and God-fearing man. He commanded the Elieser for many years and thus got to know South Africa well. He investigated the conditions here more closely and was impressed with the greenclad hills, the rich soil and the good climate.

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He wrote reports in Norwegian newspapers about the great possibilities there must be here for people who sought better livelihoods. Many of those who sat at home in straitened and extremely difficult circumstances were willing to be lured by these glowing articles. They were willing to burn all bridges behind them and begin afresh in that foreign country.

Through the missionary to seamen, E. Berg, in London, a certain group made contact with an agent for the South African government, and all formalities were arranged. Up to 50 families would be granted 100 acres each at a very reasonable price in a predetermined area south of Durban.

On 14 July 1882 thirty-four families left from Ålesund, in all 233 souls. Some children died en route, so that 229 arrived safely. The goldsmith Christian Fredrik Rödseth, his wife Margrethe Christiane and their four children were among those who went ashore in the new fatherland on 28 August. One of the four was Peder Aage, the only son and the eldest of the four children.

The pioneers had had land allocated to them near the mouth of the Umzimkulu River, not far from the little country town of Port Shepstone. Today it is quite a large town two to three hours' drive south from Durban. The new settlers' area was called Marburg, a name the German immigrants had given it.

The history of the Marburg settlement is a saga full of adversity and trials. Their existence turned out in no way as they had imagined.

Many of the immigrants gave up and went back to Norway or moved to other places in South Africa.

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At this time the big gold rush began, and many tried their luck there. The Rödseth family moved to Durban after a few years.

Those who can trace their roots back to the Marburg Settlement, have throughout all the years been bound together with strong ties. All round- figure years since their arrival have been duly celebrated, and every year the day of their landing has been remembered. None of those who came across the sea that time long ago, is alive today, but it isn't long since the last one died.

Rödseth went to Marburg at regular intervals. He held divine services there and collected considerable amounts of money for the mission. The interest in mission has always been strong among the people of Norwegian descent there. After we were married, I too went many a time, and in later years I have attended the annual gatherings of the immigrants as often as I had the chance.

Those God-fearing people from Norway, for almost all of them were deeply religious, built a house of worship first of all. Before they had organized decent houses for themselves, they dedicated the church, exactly a year after their arrival. The church is beautifully situated on a height. The old church building is still in use, renovated and modernized.

In the new country the immigrants got the "wild heathen" of whom they had read at home, as their next-door neighbours. They got to know them, amongst other things, because the natives sought work on the farms. The lively care they had had in Norway for the salvation of the souls of these people, did not diminish. Many tried to proclaim

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the Word of God to them to the best of their ability with partially good results.

In this God-fearing milieu the call to mission work matured in young Rödseth. However he could not get the necessary education in this country; the immigrants had had trouble enough to get a primary school going.

He therefore travelled to Norway to seek admission to the Mission School in Stavanger, where he arrived in 1887. He was ordained a missionary priest in 1892. Two others of the young settlers also wished to become missionaries, John Öie and Gustav Hojem. They did not succeed. Gustav Hojem met Marie Oftebro, a sister of Dr. Kristian Oftebro, and was married instead. John Öie got into a serious spiritual crisis and left the school. He became a teacher and is still living in Norway. Both of these were Aage's close friends.

Two of the old missionary Titlestad's sons went home at the same time to become missionary priests: Martin, who was to serve as a missionary in Zululand for a long time, and Lauritz who unfortunately developed inflam-mation of the lungs and died. It was Aage's opinion that he was inadequate-ly provided with clothes for Norway's winter weather.

In Stavanger Aage got to know Ragnhild Hærem, the daughter of the master shipbuilder Rasmus and Emilie Hærem. Her father Rasmus was widowed early and brought his children up in the strict fear of the Lord. Ragnhild was a trained teacher.

Her father agreed to the engagement, and it was decided that Ragnhild would follow Aage to South Africa. The two young people were married in Durban in 1894, and

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Ragnhild became a very competent house wife and missionary's wife.

They were stationed far north in Zululand at Patane, fifty kilometres north of Schreuder's old Empangeni station. Here they laboured as pioneer missionaries in difficult conditions. Especially for her the primitive conditions were a trial.

The house had three rooms: a living-room in the middle and a bedroom on either side of it. To ensure a good through draught there was a door on both sides of the living-room. They had a veranda on one of the sides. Here there was also a little extra room with space for a bed.

The inventory consisted of a chest of drawers, which all young missionaries brought with them when they left the Mission School. The family bed was of the kind which was used in the ox-waggons: a strong wooden frame with strips of ox-hide nailed both lengthwise and crosswise as a bed base. Then they had some empty wooden boxes as a cupboard, and a table in the living-room.

One end of the table served as an office; at the other end Ragnhild set the table for meals. The table stands now in the kitchen of my eldest son Eilif in Eshowe! As far as I know they had a kitchen hut with an open fire-place for cooking, such as was usual then.

The ox-waggon was the means of transport. A couple of times

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per annum they had to set out on the long road to Durban to procure what they needed of food and clothing. The trip could take several weeks, depending on whether or not they could cross all the many rivers, among them the large Tugela.

Daily life for the pioneer missionaries far out in the wilderness was not easy. Often food was a problem. Once when they had slaughtered a little bull, Ragnhild corned as much meat as she could in her only bath-tub. Each time she wished to wash clothes, she had to take the meat out. It was a treatment the meat did not particularly appreciate. Soon it was completely spoiled. Had they been more experienced they would have rubbed the fresh meat well with salt and hung it up to dry.

In keeping with the custom and fashion of the times the young missionary dressed in suits of white drill, which we Norwegians call "English skin". Aage stopped doing this. He pitied his wife who had to keep those thick white clothes he wore in the heat clean. There was a lot of perspiration running down such a suit.

So he changed to wearing clothes which were easy to wear and easy to wash.

At Patane the first two children were born. The first was little Esther. As a newborn she cried almost incessantly, to the great distress of the young parents who had no one to consult. In their inexperience they did not understand what was wrong.

They decided to take a holiday trip to Ekombe where the missionary's good friend and fellow student Martin Titlestad and his wife Margaretha lived and managed the station. On the way they spent a night at Empangeni with the Ole Norgaard family. Here there was a large family of children and plenty of experience where little children were concerned. The Norgaards understood at once that the little one wasn't getting enough nourishment from her mother. She was crying because she was hungry! Mrs. Laura made a good milk pudding and fed little Esther with it, and with that she slept the whole night through, a thing she had not done for a long time.

That was just a little example of how difficult it was to live isolated as missionaries among people who had an entirely different cultural background and spoke another language. Ragnhild felt the lack of the company of like-minded people; she was lonely and cried often, my husband told me later. She was also on the point of dying of malaria and puerperal fever.

Neither was there any encouragement to be found in the mission work itself. The young priest achieved small results. He went home-visiting in the kraals, but it was only the children who were at home. The women were in the fields or away fetching water and firewood, the men were hunting or at a beer-drinking party. Here it was just as it was in so many places when mission work was in its early stages.

Those who were interested in hearing the Word of God had special reasons for it. Many came to live at the missionaries' place to escape something they did not like at home. Some young girls had run away because they did not want to marry old men who had several wives already. In accordance with Zulu customs a girl's father could force her to it if only the wooer had enough cows to pay the price.

One of those girls was asked for by public notice by her father. One day he came running in his traditional goatskin

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clothes armed with stick and club. Now his daughter was going home!

As soon as the girl saw her father she hid under that large family bed. Her father went after her, but he ran right across the living-room and out the other side. When he could not get hold of his daughter, his anger increased considerably. He swung the clubs threateningly over the heads of the missionary and made the worst threats.

Rödseth stood perfectly still and waited until the anger had left the man. After some deliberations they reached an agreement, and the girl was allowed to remain on the station.

Such experiences must have contributed to making life unpleasant for the missionary's young wife.

No mission station was ever built at Patane. At the end of four years Rödseth was moved to KwaMondi, and the work he had started was placed under the Empangeni station.

To Rödseth was granted the making of the tender beginnings at Patane. The Word of God was sown, it sprouted, and later bore fruit. Today there is a strong congregation in the area.

At KwaMondi they got a good friend called Saul Mtetwa. He was an evangelist, a faithful and capable man. After some additional education he was ordained priest and called to serve his own tribe at Patane. Unfortu-nately he had only a short working life; he died young. But others took over, and the work grew. Those first difficult years of Rödseth's pioneer period were not in vain.

It was in 1898 that Rödseth and his family arrived at Eshowe. Broken only by a furlough in Norway in

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1905-07 and a four-year period at the theological college at Oscarsberg 1920-24, he was to live there the rest of his life as a missionary.

About a year after the drowning disaster, while I was still at Esinyamboti at Strömmes', Rödseth began writing to me.

Then one day a letter of proposal arrived.

After I had arrived from Madagascar, I had asked the Lord so earnestly to heal me. I looked up all the Bible promises about answers to prayer. All those many good promises comforted me, but I got no peace. In many ways it was an unhappy time, not because I feared death, but because to me every-thing seemed meaningless. The Mission Society had spent money on educating me, on long voyages and on language studies, and I had not yet done a day's work.

I struggled with these questions and problems for a long time. Then one day it dawned on me that it was not right to go to God with my claims and demand that He do as I wanted and wished. I had to ask God to do with me according to His will.

Only then did I find peace for my soul at last. And I got well, com-pletely healed. The ulcer in the lung was healed. I know that God healed me that time.

So the state of my health was no hindrance to marriage.

All the same it was no easy decision to make. I consulted my hosts. Both considered it a very good idea. Some would perhaps consider that it was rather soon after the first wife had passed away, but what was the man

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to do? He was left with many children, had heavy duties as host on the station, and difficult and demanding work. He needed help and support.

Personally I now began to see the hand of God in what had happened to me since I had left Norway. In an amazing way He had led me to Zululand. Now I saw that the tasks lay to hand.

The thought of marriage had until then been far from my mind. And now I was not only to get a husband, but a whole family to boot, six boys and a little girl. It was totally beyond any imagination.

The surprise was transplanted to Norway. Rödseth had written to my parents that we were considering a wedding in the July. Mother was not the one to be knocked off balance easily. She prepared a large party to be held on the chosen day and invited the priest of the parish to0.

On 3 July in 1918 we were married in the station church at KwaMondi. My husband's good friend Martin Titlestad arrived from Ekombe on horse-back to officiate. We did not have a big wedding. Aage's parents came from Doon-side, as did his sister Anna Friis-Nielsen with three of her children. The Bovim family were on holiday at KwaMondi, so they joined us. And then our German friend Herman Gebers. It turned out a happy day. Anna cooked the dinner, and everyone was helpful.

What the two oldest boys felt about it, I do not know. They were now getting a mother who was only twelve years older than the older of them. But they were loyal to their father and called me "Mor" (Mother) from the very first day as was his wish. (They had called their own mother Mamma.)

I was aware that I could in no way fill the place of their mother, but despite my many

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mistakes we became good friends. And the friendship has lasted to this day. My eldest stepson is 80 years old, and that "little girl" has turned 70. All those seven fine children are still alive and six are still living in this country, and one in Kenya.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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"THE HEAVENLY NATION"

I must tell you a little about the new country I had reached, the one which has become my second fatherland, and the people here.

As is so clearly shown by the two offertory boxes in Hemne, the Zulu people have always occupied a large place in the hearts of mission folk. When the first heathen were baptized in the middle of the 19th century, the friends of the mission remembered them by name. By and large that was not so difficult because, as like as not, the converts were given the names of well-known Norwegian Christian personalities, or they were given Bible names.

The work seemed very difficult in the beginning. From the time that Schreuder set foot on South African soil on 1 January 1844, two years after the Norwegian Mission Society had been established, 14 years passed before the first heathen was baptized, a young servant maid. In all those years the mission folk remained faithful in prayer and in contributing money for the Zulus. How great was the joy when it became known that the work had borne fruit, that the first one had been baptized! The news spread like wild fire across the land; people stopped in their tracks, bared their heads and thanked God.

Zululand is a part of the province of Natal. In the south it borders on the Tugela River, which meanders towards the Indian Ocean. Out near the sea there is a fairly narrow flat and marshy coastal strip. Beyond that a

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steadily more broken landscape follows, with characteristic hill-tops and dells alternating endlessly. The further we get inland, the more dizzyingly steep the valley slopes become, until they are overtaken by the wild and scenically beautiful mountain landscape of the Drakensberg. This is the gateway to a very high plateau which stretches inland monotonously and endlessly. Zululand is cut across by five large rivers which in turn have a whole network of tributaries.

In the north Zululand borders on Mozambique and Swaziland. It is a fertile land. In summer the sun shines nearly the whole day long, interrupted only by heavy showers of rain which have a cooling effect on the temperatures of 30-40 degrees. In winter it can become quite cool, especially at night. In the interior, in the Drakensberg and on the highlying places like Ekombe, where the Norwegian Mission has worked for a long time, snow may fall. Particularly at night the Zulus feel the cold, even though their huts are warm.

The history of missions in South Africa dates back to 1737 in the Cape Colony. It was the Moravian Brethren who tried then, but it wasn't long before they gave up, for the Boers were not friendly disposed to the work.

But the Brethren did not give in. In 1792 a new attempt was made, and this time their efforts bore fruit. From the turn of that century onwards many Protestant missions followed in the wake of the Brethren, among them the Norwegian Mission Society. The Brethren never reached Zululand.

The first Norwegian missionary, Hans Palludan Smith Schreuder, arrived in the country at a very difficult

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time. The Zulus were struggling against both Boer and Brit to preserve their national identity and their land. The reigning King Mpande was sceptically disposed towards all Whites, irrespective of their errand. When he sought out the king in his kraal in 1845, Schreuder was therefore refused permission to settle in the land to carry on mission work.

Today the Zulus consist of 286 tribes, and they constitute a population of between four and five million people. It is the largest single group in South Africa. This is quite noteworthy when one knows that it is only about 150 years since they were just a few thousand half-nomadic people who came wandering from further north in Africa. The reason for the progress lies in the fact that the Zulus got very capable leaders who in many areas were new thinkers. In the course of a short period of time the Zulus subjugated many tribes and gained control of large tracts of land.

At the time when their extensive expansion began, one of their kings was called Zulu. His father had called him that because he was a "surprise from heaven". IZulu is their word for both the canopy of the sky and for the place where God dwells. His people came to be called amaZulu, "the heavenly nation", hence their name. AbakwaZulu.

Shaka is the great name in the history of the Zulus. He was born in 1787 and reigned from 1818 to 1828, when he was assassinated. Two half-brothers murdered him.

It is clear that Shaka must have been a very intelligent man. Besides that, physically he was a giant, about 1.90 m. tall. He trained his forces

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so they could run mile after mile without stopping. They were given better weapons, larger shields and better spears than their predecessors had had. They were also allowed to take divisions of young boys with them to carry their equipment, cooking utensils, mats, food and anything else they required. Shaka devised new attacking tactics, trained spies and was, on the whole, a kind of African Napoleon.

Personally he availed himself of every opportunity to get on. His administration of justice was as hard as iron; he knew no punishment other than the death sentence. When his mother died, he demanded that everybody wail and weep for long periods of time. Those who had no tears left, were slaughtered regularly. 7 000 people lost their lives in this mourning orgy.

When Shaka fell at the hands of the assassins, one of the half-brothers, Dingane, killed his fellow-conspirators, and King Dingane carried on governing with a heavy hand.

His name has been ensured a place in South Africa's history books for ever, because he once killed treacherously 7O Boers who were in his kraal asking for permission to settle. The Boers are that part of the country's population which comes of European descent, chiefly from Holland, and who came as immigrants to the Cape from the 17th century onwards. Now they had crossed the Drakensberg and wished to enter Natal, an area which was described as South Africa's "garden".

The Boers were negotiating with King Dingane, and 70 ablebodied men from the large Boer encampment went to Dingane's kraal to sign an agreement. Beside the kraal lived an English missionary

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couple, Owen by name, and the husband's sister.

The Boers were the king's guests for a couple of days. The Boers gave a display of their competence in riding and shooting. The missionaries who witnessed this, were very anxious; they did not like the exhibition at all and were afraid that things would go wrong.

The day the agreement was to be signed, the Boer leader Piet Retief and his men were asked to leave their weapons outside the king's kraal.

The contract had just been signed when at a given signal the air was filled with the most dreadful shrieks. All 70 were speared to death. The bodies were dragged to a hillock beyond the king's camp.

For the missionaries it was a gruesome experience. They were not attacked, but the sight of what happened, made them lie down and press their faces into the ground. As soon as there was the opportunity, they returned to England - totally broken.

After this misdeed the Zulus attacked the Boer encampment, where there were only women, children and old people, who had little hope of defending themselves. On a later occasion the Boers avenged these murders. It was a battle at the Ncomo River, where it is said that 3 000 Zulus lost their lives and their blood made the river red. This occurred on 16 December 1838, and the day has since been a solemn public holiday in South Africa, the Day of the Covenant.

For Dingane this was the end; his power was broken. His half-brother Mpande was willing to ally himself with the Boers, and he carried large sections

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of the people with him along this path of peace. In 1840 the Boers installed him as king of the Zulus.

It was King Mpande who in 1845 refused Schreuder permission to pro-claim the gospel to the Zulus. But it is a strange fact in history, that often just little things are needed to change its course. It happened like this: Mpande was seriously troubled with rheumatism. He had tried every possible treatment and advice, but in vain. Then he was told that the White man at Umpumulo, where Schreuder then carried on his mission work among the Zulus who had fled their land, had a large stock of bottles of medicine.

So the king sent for "Hans" with the jars. Schreuder was one of those who act at once, so it was not long before he had inspanned the oxen and set off. The treatment helped, the king felt much better. He was however anxious about the long distance "Hans" would have to travel if the king should have a relapse. How could this be overcome in the best manner?

It was decided that Schreuder was to be allowed to build a station near the king's kraal. Thus it was that the first station in Zululand proper was built at Empangeni in 1851.

The Norwegian theologian and subsequently, bishop, made good use of his bottles of medicine. First one chief would be ill, then another. The very handy Schreuder also made a chair for King Mpande; it is large and solidly made. The king was a man of considerable dimensions, round and fat. The chair stands today in the museum at Eshowe.

The king had his large kraal on the Nodwengo

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flats, which today bear the name Ulundi. Here a new capital is at present being built for the Zulus, where they are to have their own parliament and their own administration over the area which the government of South Africa has allocated to them, kwaZulu.

Mpande reigned - mostly in name - until 1872. It was his colourful son Cetshwayo, who after killing a brother, became the successor to the throne and was responsible for the last phases of the national struggle of the Zulus.

When Cetshwayo was crowned king by the British in 1873, it was in the presence of Schreuder. Missionaries as well as other Whites hoped for and reckoned with peaceful times, but the king had other designs. A very tense relationship between the British and the natives developed, and it resulted in bloody wars where Cetshwayo in the first round caused the British great losses.

In 1878 the Norwegian missionaries resolved to pull out of Zululand. Working conditions had become very difficult, and they saw no other solution ahead than decisive acts of war. They reckoned that British overlordship over the Zulus would improve their working conditions. The decisive battle took place in 1879, on the Ulundi flats, where King Mpande in his time had lived, and where the new capital is being built.

In the 1870s the Norwegian Mission had nine mission stations spread over large parts of Zululand. They had baptized about 300 souls. Among the new missionaries who had come, were Ommund Oftebro, who for many years was to remain on a friendly footing with Prince Cetshwayo. At one stage this relationship was so good that Oftebro hoped to win the prince for the kingdom of God. It

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was at Cetshwayo's request that he moved to Eshowe, where he established the mission station in 1861. The natives called the station KwaMondi. When Mrs. Oftebro called her husband Ommund, it sounded to the Zulus like "Mondi". The station had to be called KwaMondi, meaning "at Ommund's".

As king, Cetshwayo came to view the missionaries as spies for the Whites. Many Christians were killed on account of their faith. Others fled out of the country to the Natal Colony, where the missionaries tried to buy farms near the border with Zululand, so that they could build dwellings and congregations in secure conditions.

The first native martyr was Maqamusela Khanyile, who was shot on 9 March 1877 on a hill-top beyond KwaMondi mission station. He was an older man and fully aware of what the consequences could be if he were to be baptized.

He was not baptized. On the orders of the king the local chief sent a group of men off to kill him. They stopped him, threatened him with their weapons and said that he had failed their ancestors and the king.

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"Let me first say a prayer," Maqamusela requested. After the prayer he got up and said: "I am ready."

His body was never found, but later a memorial stone was erected on the hill where he fell. Together with Maqamusela about a hundred other Zulus suffered martyrs' deaths at that time, according to official sources. Of those, 29 had connections with the station at Eshowe and 17 with another NMS station, KwaMbonambi.

After the war Zululand was divided into 13 little kingdoms under the oversight of a British representative at Eshowe. Some of the new chiefs were kindly disposed towards the mission, others not.

In 1887 the country was divided into separate areas for Whites and Blacks, for the first time; this was the first sign of a definite policy to separate the races. In 1897 Zululand was incorporated into the province of Natal. As recently as 1906 the Zulus made a renewed attempt at revolting against the Whites, but their power had been broken.

The Zulus still have kings and chiefs, but the old tribal society was in dissolution already when I reached the country. Industrialization had begun all over South Africa; the menfolk left for the towns to seek employ-ment; the women, the children and the elderly remained in the kraals. A social pattern we know in the South Africa of today.

Even though our western way of life has made a strong inroads in the lives of these people of nature, there are still many old traditions and much superstition remaining. The Zulus are animist, worshipping the spirits of the ancestors. Many new spiritistic sects have therefore gained easy access to them. Here Christianity and spirit-worship

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are mixed, which is attractive to the Zulus, because it does not require them to forsake their old superstitions.

The Mission has now worked among the Zulus for over 130 years. A national church has developed and has gained its independence; all the same, input is still needed. Both the Church and the Mission must continue to proclaim the gospel to the Zulu nation.
 
 

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RITUAL MURDER

I came to thrive in the landscape peculiar to Zululand. In the summer half of the year, from about September to April, there is plenty of sun and rain. The hills lie green and lovely; all the streams which have lain more or less dried out all winter murmur in the dells.

These streams are of the greatest importance to the natives. Here they have their only source of water. It is women's work to fetch water in large homemade pitchers which they balance on their heads.

On the mission stations there were water-tanks. We had a couple of them by our house at KwaMondi. All rainwater from the roof was led into the large tanks, and in the course of the summer they were filled. If the winter was long and dry we might run out of water for it could be used up. We had to padlock the last half-empty tank to ensure a supply of drinking-water. Bearing in mind other water needs, we might dig a little hollow in a stream. This homemade dam we had to share with cattle, which were taken there every time they needed to drink.

One evening, it was school holiday time and my first baby boy was still little, I had gone to bed early. My

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husband and the eldest children sat in the living-room. They made tea, and Aage brought me a cup of tea.

"Why, this tea tastes of manure," I said. He raised his index finger threateningly at me and got that roguish look in his eye: "If you are going to be difficult," he said, "then. . . ." And so without a mutter, I had to drink the tea they had been good enough to make me. There was no doubt about the source of that water.

Since olden days it was the women who did the heaviest work in a Zulu kraal. Thus it was a good thing to have many wives. They had to go to the stream for water; they had to gather firewood. As like as not, they then took with them a large broad knife with a strong wooden handle. It was often the only sharp iron tool of the home. With this knife they cut branches off trees and carried them home in bundles on their heads. The same knife was used to cut grass and to cut up meat.

The women had to hoe the ground to make small fields. Those who were clever, might have maize, amadumbe and sweet potatoes. Beans and amabele (sorghum) as well. Pumpkins grow very well. If a few seeds are tossed on a heap of soil and rubbish, it does not take long before the stalks spread along the ground. The fresh leaves can be used as a kind of spinach. They are chopped up and boiled. With a little salt and Spanish pepper it makes a good variation in the diet. The Zulus have a proverb which runs thus: "Amakhosikazi akhutheleyo, ayahla okusha". Diligent wives eat new kinds of food. The one who is diligent in the fields has fresh food, to0.

To build a new hut requires considerable input on the part of the wife. She has to provide all the grass which is to be used. Often she has to walk long distances to find the right

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kind. She binds it together and carries it home on her head.

Some have now got corrugated iron on their roofs, but it is not to their advantage in every way. It has its disadvantages. A grass roof makes the hut warmer and cosier in winter and cooler in summer. With corrugated iron it is the other way round. It makes the hut hotter in summer and colder in winter.

The Zulus did not understand the value of the use of manure, but they often moved the whole kraal and built anew. When they planted on the old site, where both humans and animals had left manure behind, they produced fine crops for a few years.

Further inland where it is almost treeless, people put cowdung out to dry so that it can be used as fuel. This creates a lot of smoke in the huts, so that is perhaps why all old grannies suffer from bad eyes. They are generally the ones who tend the fires.

Zulu women are good at brewing beer. They use the grain called ama-bele, which is a millet, sorghum. The beer has to simmer for a long time before being left to ferment. This beverage is quite nutritious and low in alcohol content, but when people get together at a beer-drink they drink so much that they get drunk. Then things can turn violent with quarrelling and fighting. It has even ended in murder.

My husband was once out on a long cycle-trip in the direction of Empangeni. On the way home he got so tired that he thought he was going to faint. He turned in at a Zulu kraal to get something to drink. The woman of the house gave him a large mug of beer. He drank it and felt truly refreshed.

That was the only time he drank beer. He was a very strict teetotaller all his life and was one of

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those who tried to require our native priests and evangelists to abstain completely. He succeeded only to a limited extent.

Regrettably, beer-drinking is gaining the upper hand in many places in Zululand.

The climate in this country is conducive to productivity, when there is enough sun and rain, but, unfortunately, it is not always so, and then the result is a shortage of food for both humans and animals. I remember that we had drought for several successive years. Animals died of hunger and thirst.

Such emergencies and the inefficient use of the soil, caused much poverty and need among the Zulus. Little by little they have learnt about soil cultivation: they are now better at planting vegetables and the produce which serves to vary the diet. Nevertheless many are still poor.

On their menu maize stands first and foremost, and they serve it in a variety of ways. They harvest half-ripe mealie cobs, pull most of the leaves off leaving only the innermost thin layer. Then they boil them for half an hour and then gnaw the mealies off the cob. This is "mnandi" - sweet, nice.

From green mealies they also make mealie bread. For this the mealies must first be crushed on the flat stone which all Zulu homes have. They boil the bread wrapped in a large banana leaf.

Mealie meal porridge is daily food. Sometimes they add pumpkin to the porridge. It makes a change. They also made "uphuthu". They put a little water in a pot. When it boils, they add a dish of mealie meal to it. They stir this until it is heated throughout. This half-raw "cake" tastes quite nice. With a little sour milk added it becomes extra

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good food. But it certainly is not economical. A thick crust is left behind in the pot and has to be thrown out to the fowls.

The preservation of food is difficult. Pumpkins can keep for quite a long time on a roof. Maize soon acquires insects. The Zulus make some small carefully thatched huts on stilts, and fill them with mature mealies. There they keep for a time. In olden days it was the custom to dig a hole in the ground to store maize. The hole had to be dug where the ground was dry and hard. It had a small opening and widened downwards like a bottle. The opening was covered by a stone slab. The heat and the gas generated killed all insects and small creatures.

However, the gas could be dangerous for humans when they went to fetch maize from the hole. I heard of a young man who died doing such work.

The taste of the maize was indifferent when it had lain for a while in this hole, but at least it was edible.

Mature mealies are boiled with dry beans. This has to boil for many hours in a lot of water, but once the mealies and the beans are tender, this "inkobe" tastes really good.

It is not always equally easy to procure salt. Before the Whites reached this country the people must have eaten their food without it. In due course they were able to buy salt, but it cost money. I heard of a White man who bartered a cup of salt for a hen. Undoubtedly that salt was used sparingly.

In olden days it was the custom to eat only once per day. When the women had been in the field since early morning until nearing midday, they went to

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their huts to make a fire to cook a big meal which would satiate everyone.

Father had to eat first. He sat quite alone in the hut while he ate. It was considered rude to sit and watch him. Especially the children kept at a good distance. After him the wife and the children could get at the food. Probably the Zulus now eat three meals per day like we do.

In olden days there was a sturdy fence of twigs and branches around the Zulu kraals. It was to protect against both wild animals and human beings. In the middle of the kraal lay the cattle-kraal with the huts in a circle around it. The presence of a large number of huts was, and still is, an indication of wealth. Each new wife gets her own hut for herself and her children. When the kraal swarms with children, a Zulu is satisfied.

Then there are also boys to herd the cattle by day. The milking is men's work. The calves are first allowed to drink, otherwise the cows will not yield their milk. One of the children holds the calf away while the cow is being milked. They keep the last remaining little bit of milk for the calf.

Once when I personally milked our cows at KwaMondi, the natives were amazed. A woman milking a cow? No, they had never seen the like!

The milk is poured into a pitcher where there is probably still some thoroughly sour milk left. When it thickens and curdles the whey is poured off. Sour milk with all the cream still left in it is rich food. Sometimes the mothers would stuff their little children with sour milk until they developed colic and died of it. A couple of times I've eaten such sour milk, but I could not manage a big helping.

Meat is far from being daily food. Only on special occasions and at religious festivals is a beast slaughtered. Now and again chicken

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or goat's meat may appear at a meal, but even that is not too often.

The cattle kraal is almost a holy place to the Zulus. In the "isibaya" the host has his reception area. When the sun has dried out the animals' excrement, the cattle-fold is a fine place to sit with one's back against a tree trunk or the fence and to sun oneself. If a neighbour or two comes visiting, the cattle-fold is the place for conversation and discussions.

"Lobola" is the name of the Zulu system of acquiring a wife. A Zulu always pays his father-in-law for his daughter. For centuries this has been the cornerstone of their economy. Cattle have been the traditional method of payment, but now other means of settlement are accepted if they represent a corresponding value. I once told one of our eldest priests that my husband had not paid for me. He laughed loud and long. He didn't believe a word of it.

For a Zulu man it would be unthinkable to have a wife for whom he had not paid. It would mean that she would have no respect for him.

Lobola is woven into the fabric of the lives of the Zulus, for better or for worse. Wealth can take precedence over love. An old man who can pay takes precedence over a youth of no means, even if he and the girl love each other. In olden days it was not uncommon for a Zulu maiden to go into the bush and hang herself because she did not want to marry the old poly-gamist to whom her father had promised her.

However, this does not mean that Zulu women are opposed to polygamy. To a Zulu it is unthinkable to live

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alone, and many wives mean much company. I once asked a young girl who had got yet another stepmother, how she liked it. "Very much", replied the girl, "She talks the whole time."

When a man has several wives, they can fetch firewood together, or keep one another company in the field.

Bakakile was a Christian girl who worked for Ragnhild Rödseth for many years. She married a Christian man in the Khangelani district. All was well, apart from the fact that she didn't get children, and that is hard for the Zulus. So one day the husband came home with a new young wife. When Bakakile told me this, I asked if she wasn't dreadfully upset. "Oh no, not at all; she is like a younger sister to me," she answered.

Tradition is tradition.

When times were bad it was possible to get a wife quite cheaply, but with increasing prosperity, the price demanded became unreasonably high. The English therefore put a ceiling on the price of wives. It was not to exceed ten head of cattle for an ordinary maiden and twenty for the daughter of a chief. The Zulus twisted this decision somewhat and said that the price had to be ten or twenty head of cattle.

However, it is not necessary to have the cash to hand. Many parents-in-law agree to payment by instalments.

For a marriage to become a reality, more than the lobola is necessary. Courtship, too, costs money. To begin with, the suitor has to give his prospective mother-in-law a gift. A wealthy man

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may give her a cow. A blanket or another gift will serve the same purpose.

When the suitor approaches the father of the chosen one to begin negotiations, he must bring him a gift. It used to be two gold coins; what they use today I don't know. This gift is intended to "open the mouth" of the father.

The suitor does not arrive alone. He is accompanied by his father or another relative. When the girl's father has received his due, and can therefore "open his mouth", negotiations begin. They beat about the bush before getting to the point.

I have not attended heathen weddings, but I have seen them at a distance. There is beer-drinking and dancing. Large pots of meat, amadumbe and sweet potatoes stand ready, and food is served on banana leaves. It is customary for all the guests to walk home in groups, before nightfall. Zulus don't like being out after dark.

I have attended a number of Christian weddings. There too a beast is slaughtered. The women are busy from early in the morning. Large iron pots stand in a row between huts. In one they usually have rice. It has to be bought for no one here can grow it, but they like it very much. The meat is always very thoroughly cooked.

It is not easy for the bridal pair to keep to an appointed time. If the marriage ceremony is set for 12 o'clock, it can easily happen that the bride will not appear until a couple of hours later, or even later than that. My husband was irritated at all unpunctuality. Once he had to wait for a bridal couple from noon until 3 o'clock in the afternoon.

When the bride at last came, she was dressed in a fine bridal gown,

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shoes and gloves, veil and parasol, all in white. It was the hairdo which had taken such a long time. Those little curls have to be divided into squares and plaited so that the whole head is full of tiny plaits.

After the ceremony all walk in procession to the wedding kraal. At one of the weddings which I attended, the bride and the groom each had a choir standing in the yard singing alternately; it was like a kind of musical competition.

Some of us were privileged and sat at a set table and ate with knife and fork, while most of the guests were served in a more primitive fashion.

In addition to the lobola, the bridegroom has to pay for the bridal gown and the rest of the finery. Once he has acquired a wife it is often the case that he owns nothing else; he has perhaps got into debt to manage all of this.

When I first came to Zululand I paid many visits to kraals to see how people lived. The Zulus are very hospitable, and enjoy visitors. They serve them the best food they have.

I once arrived at the home of Johanna Zungu, the wife of the chief, at Eshowe. She had just boiled fresh green mealies, and was on her knees in a little outhouse crushing the mealies on the flat stone. She fetched a dish of sour milk, tipped the crushed mealies into it and mixed it well with her fingers. "This is nice, this is nice," she said and handed me an old rusty iron spoon to eat with. I tasted the food, and it was nice, even though it wasn't exactly very appetizing.

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The Zulus are in fact cleanly. They go to the stream and have a thorough wash. They rub their legs with a flat stone. They wash their clothes at the same time and spread them out on the grass to dry. After-wards they rub their bodies well with fat. They like to use Vaseline (petroleum jelly); otherwise they use whatever they have.

A girl who worked for Mrs. Titlestad, scraped the fat off the dinner plates and rubbed it into her arms. "Fie, for shame!" said Mrs. Titlestad, "Now you will have to wash yourself." "Amafuthanje, mesisi," she replied. "It's just fat, Madam."

The earthen floors in the huts were "washed" with cowdung. It doesn't sound particularly nice, but it is indeed not a bad idea. Emptying the hut of all movable contents, they fetch fresh cowdung in an old dish and dilute it with water. They smear this all over the floor by hand. After a while it is dry and fine. This treatment kills fleas and destroys cockroach eggs.

In olden days chiefs and royal personages were very particular about the hut floors. It was quite an elaborate affair to lay such a floor. After the ground had been levelled carefully, they fetched ant-heaps and crushed them all over the floor and tramped them down well, to make a hard substratum. After the surface had been very thoroughly smoothed with flat stones, the floor was finally polished with oxblood. After this treatment it was hard and a shiny black colour. Only once have I seen such a floor; it was like ebony.

The Zulus have their "national costume" and are particular about how they go dressed. Children may go about nude until they are quite big, but then the little girls get a little "apron"

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of beads. When the girls get bigger, they tie a piece of material, "ibayi", around themselves. Some trim the bottom edge with a row of beads.

When they reach marriageable age, they must begin to dress their hair. It has to be coiffed in such a way that it grows upwards to be made into a high top-knot. This is a sign of a woman's dignity. It is called "isicholo".

A fine string of grass is plaited and put around the head in the size of the desired hair top. As the hair grows, new circles of grass string are added. A fine top-knot looks like a little bucket turned upside down. In colour it is reddish brown, held together with fat and other things. It is often decorated with beads.

As time passes an assortment of lively little creatures gathers. The women therefore keep long hairpins stuck in the topknots, and they use them diligently to scratch their heads when they have a minute to spare.

I have heard that it is now possible to buy artificial top-knots. New times are reaching Zululand to0. To keep such a bought one clean must be considerably easier!

In earlier times the newly-wed woman wore a skirt of skin. Preferably it was made of ox-hide, but goatskin was evidently also acceptable. The hide had to be well prepared and the hairs scraped off it. The skirt com-prised hundreds of narrow strips of hide. With a large towel over the skin attire, and beadwork around neck and ankles, she is clad in her finery.

Little boys generally had their behinds covered with little goat-skins and wore some fringes in front; the men went about with "aprons" of long strips of hide with the hairs still on it and long fringes around the bottom, fastened with a belt around the waist. Covering their

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backsides were large goatskins. The men, too, sported plenty of beadwork.

Most Zulus today wear European clothing. Under the hut roofs far out in the wilderness hang rows of suits, shirts and dresses. I believe that the first missionaries required that the women who became Christians forgo the distinctive coiffure, and that both men and women change their way of dressing. The missionaries' wives sewed dresses for the first Christian women and shirts for the men.

The Christians were also among the first to build rectangular houses. Zulus find it most natural to build in a circle; all their huts, enclosures and courtyards were always circular. It is probable that the Christians copied the missionaries, and built with four corners. We called such rectangular house "iKholwa" houses, houses of Christians. ("IKholwa" means a believer. I.G.)

Zulus never stay up late at night. As darkness falls, they begin to think of the night's rest. Perhaps they may sit talking around the fire-place for a while, but by and large, they both retire and rise again with the sun. Outside, the world is full of sounds. Frogs croak, crickets chirp the characteristic "song" made by their wings, from the cattle-kraal the final bellow is heard, and a deep blue night sky strewn with stars arches over it all, with the Southern Cross as the brightest image of stars.

Behind that peace and harmony which seem to reign in Zulu kraals, much terror and superstition are hidden. The natives fear the ancestor spirits, fear the withdoctor and fear one another.

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In the Entumeni district, not far from Eshowe, a Christian woman disappeared as recently as 10-15 years ago. She was on her way down the valley to a sugar mill, a frequented section of road. The great possibility that the criminal or criminals could be caught in the act, did not deter them from doing away with the woman.

How could that happen? In the court-case which followed, many wit-nesses were called in, but none of them dared say anything for fear of reprisals. A goatherd had earlier told them that he had heard cries at the time the crime had occurred, but in court he would not testify. Among the people there were rumours that it was a local chief who was behind the murder, but all knew that it would cost them their lives if they testified against that powerful man.

The case had to be shelved.

One may ask, Why? Judging by all accounts, the woman was the victim of a ritual murder, which is often carried out in the most gruesome manner. In this way one procures human body parts which medicine men maintain are especially potent and necessary in certain medicines. Every part of the human body can be used, and the one who has such-like for sale, can command very high prices.

This happened as I said, only a few years ag0. Earlier we heard many similar stories. A boy in the Ekombe district was murdered in mysterious circumstances some years ag0. The local medicine man needed human parts for some mixtures he was busy making. One of the natives in the valley had a son who was mentally deficient, or a "half-wit" as it

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used to be called. They agreed to use him.

That time there was a court-case in which the guilty were sentenced. As far as I remember, the result was that several people were executed.

Another unhappy attitude Zulus have in their heathenism, is their view concerning a twin. For them such a birth is a family misfortune. One twin must die.

The family choose the one they prefer should live. If there is one of each gender, they choose the girl. She will bring in lobola. The other one is laid to one side with his mouth full of soil and left to suffocate.

Traditionally the Zulus feel that God, Nkulunkulu, "the great-great one", is far removed from mere humans, but they fear Him because they believe that after death it is He who will judge people. They have a violent fear of death; it leads only to darkness and hopelessness, and there is no gleam of light or peace.

The spirits of the ancestors are a constant threat. If the spirits get out of order and are not satisfied with the way descendants conduct them-selves on earth and treat them, it spells great misfortune for the family. Then they have to sacrifice. It may be so grave a case that a beast has to be sacrificed. The meat is put before the spirits to placate them. The fact that the meat does not get eaten is another matter altogether. It can still be cooked and eaten by the family.

Fear of fellow-men is also strong. Many fear being poisoned through food or that someone will cast illnesses on them. A sick Zulu is convinced that someone or other, who bears him ill-will, has allied himself with the medicine man to cast the illness on him.

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In our neighbourhood at KwaMondi it once happened that a young wife poisoned her old husband. She had not been forced to marry him, but he was old and sick, and she had tired of looking after him. The husband was a Christian, and the wife was, too, at any rate nominally. As far as I can recall, that case did not reach the law-courts.

In olden days they also lived in great fear of the king. No one dared to reap his own field before the king had begun to reap his. Even if they had to go hungry, they had to wait. That was the law. The king had his under-chiefs everywhere. They were obliged to report if anyone transgressed the laws.

Their terror also revolves around quite little things which we would not even think of. If a twig lies across the path, they have to go around it. They can't throw it aside or step over it.

The medicine man has an alarming power. He can be of use not only when one wishes one's fellow-man harm, but he also has power to influence in the other direction. If a girl wants a certain boy, she can get the medicine man to make a love potion which she throws at the chosen one.

It was to such a people, bound in heathenism and prejudices and eternal fear, that our missionaries came. Small wonder that it took a long time before they penetrated the thick wall of superstition. With patience and faithfulness the Word of God was proclaimed, and little by little perseverance was rewarded, the good seed germinated, and God gave the increase.

To relinquish heathenism has not been easy;

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we see how it can linger in Christian families for generations. In our district at KwaMondi we had a faithful evangelist with whom we had a lot to do, a man who had been a Christian for many years. His wife got tuberculosis. He was quite certain that the illness had been "cast" on her.

I tried to talk to him and explain that this is a sickness caused by infection, but he could not agree totally; there had to be someone who had cast it on her.

"As a Christian you must not believe anything like that," I continued, "That is witchcraft." It was difficult for that servant of the Lord Saul Mtetwa to understand this; the heathenism of many generations' duration doesn't easily lose its grip.

For those who are newly converted and have little knowledge of the Word of God, there can easily be a mixture of religions; they carry with them elements from the old traditions and customs. All the same it is remarkable to see how many customs are disappearing. For a Christian family to get a twin is no longer a shame; on the contrary, they are proud to get two babies. It's an attitude which is spreading steadily, but in the most remote valleys there is most likely child murder according to the old pattern without anyone getting to hear about it.

When I think of all the Christian Zulus who have gone home to God in my life-time, I can but give thanks. When I look at the independent Zulu church, then it is the work of God. I have heard young Zulu priests preach the gospel with such clarity and authority that it is only the incompre-hensible grace of God that can explain it. The teaching at the

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training college for priests is one of the most important avenues of service in which the missionaries have the chance of participating. The educating of priests can not be valued too highly; it is the future of the church.

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A TEACHER OF PRIESTS

In 1920 my husband was called to teach student priests and manage the theological course for natives. It was to stretch over a period of four years.

Our new home for these four years was the Swedish mission station Oscarsberg, which is situated further inland. It was a farm which missionaries from Sweden had bought in the 19th century, and Pastor Per Otto Holger Witt established a station there in 1878.

Right since 1912 the Norwegian Mission Society had co-operated with the Swedish Church Mission and the Berlin Mission, and later on other German Lutherans and Americans also participated. The objective was to work together to make mission work superfluous and the natives independent, something which is in the very nature of mission work. This goal necessi-tated extensive activity. Besides the purely organizational problems we had to solve, we had to prepare a common service-book for worship, and a common hymn-book, and clerical robes, and so on. In 1962, after 5O years, this co-operative work attained its first goal, namely the establishment of a regional Church, which in 1973 became incorporated in The Evangelical Lutheran Church in South Africa.

At Oscarsberg there were already dwelling-houses, and buildings, ready for occupation, so the course for Priests had the requisite outward things.

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Here were a school-building with two class-rooms, a dwelling-house for the principal, and the houses for the students lying in a little group. We called it "the students' town". Fifteen minutes' walk from the school lay the Swedish station where the couple Edla and Knut Hallendorff were the managers. The Reverend Hallendorff was simultaneously required to be the second teacher in the course for priests.

Oscarsberg is situated at Rorke's Drift right on the large Buffalo River. Rorke's Drift has become known world-wide since 1962 when the Lutheran Art Centre was established there. Those beautiful woven wall hangings from Rorke's Drift hang in the most famous art galleries all over the world and cost large sums of money. Several artists who have the Centre to thank for their progress, are world-renowned today.

The bustle of packing was now our lot. We had had our first boy, Eilif, who was a year old. The four youngest children of the "first family" were at school in Durban. We moved just as the winter holiday was due to begin, so we travelled via the city and fetched them. The furniture was sent on ahead by ox-waggon.

The next stage of the trip was to Dundee, where we had to spend the night with Swedish colleagues. The next day we were able to hire a couple of vehicles which brought us across the miles and miles of plains towards Oscarsberg. The trip took all day.

Tired and worn-out we reached our destination. The Hallendorff family, as kind as ever anyone could be, had food ready and beds organized. The next day we tackled the unpacking of the large boxes which awaited us in the spacious living-room. For me personally this stands out as the busiest day of my life. Thanks to the

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good help the big children rendered, most things were in place by evening, and we were able to crawl into our own beds on retiring.

We had come to a pretty house. The site was delightful, on a hillside sloping towards a stream, which separated the area from the mission station proper. In front of the house was an attractive garden with rose-bushes, down alongside the road an alley of fir trees. In an enclosure close at hand there were young orange trees and room for a little vegetable garden.

At the end of July our school children went back to Durban, and the native students began to arrive with their families. Of the eight, six were married.

Life at Oscarsberg turned out peaceful. After the busy years at Kwa-Mondi it felt like a holiday. Often we had whole evenings to ourselves. My husband would read aloud, and I sat with knitting or needlework.

Once in a while we had discussion evenings with the students. Among the many subjects which were brought up, was the lobola system. We were of the opinion that it could not be right for a Christian to accept payment for his daughter when she married.

There was no way they could agree with us. One of them said that it must not be considered "payment". What the bridegroom spends is a gift to the in-laws because he himself received a valuable gift.

If it is a gift, why does the father-in-law take a son-in-law to court when the latter cannot meet the former's demands and give him what he asks? It was not easy to answer this.

One of the wives was of the opinion that if the young boys did not have to save up for lobola, they would only get up to mischief

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instead. If her husband had not paid lobola for her, said one of the others, she would not feel in duty bound to remain with him.

There were many arguments for and against. The discussion about lobola has continued to this day, because both Christians and non-Christians alike adhere to this custom.

There was no lack of cosy social intercourse with the Hallendorff family as well as the students, whom we naturally got to know very well in the course of those years. To me was given the special responsibility to keep in contact with the students' wives. We had sewing-circles and Bible-studies. Once in a while we invited all the students with their families to dinner. The wives would come in time to help cook, and set the tables. As prospective priests' wives they could benefit by getting a little help and instruction.

There wasn't only happiness during those years at the school for priests. We experienced sorrow and sad times as well. One of the students, Abraham Mbata, lost his wife. It was a heavy blow to all of us.

Mbata's wife developed tuberculosis, and at that time there was little hope of recovery. We got to hear of a man who went about healing the sick by faith. He was to hold a meeting on the Anglican mission station on the other side of the Buffalo River. The students decided to look him up. The woman was taken there, but returned just as sick, and not long afterwards she went home to God. Abraham was later called to the church at Otimati, and there he re-married.

Among the happy events were the additions to the families of the students. We, too, had new members added to the family. Our three daughters were born at Oscarsberg. The first was Ingeborg, named after my mother, then Liv, and lastly, Kirsten. All the children thrived in that healthy inland climate. The Hallendorffs had children of the same ages as our school-going children, and they became good friends. When, therefore, all the big brothers and sisters came home for the school holidays, things became lively in the camp.

The co-operation between the two teachers was of the best, and close and lasting bonds were made between our two families.

When we left the School for Norway in 1924, the four students belonging to our Mission were ordained as priests. All of them became good and faithful servants of their people, but none of them attained a great age.
 
 

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INVASION OF LIAN

A smiling summer night. At about 03:00 we reach the Langmyr hills and see Likroken bathed in sunlight. A sight I've never since forgotten. After an absence of more than ten years the image of my childhood home etched itself into my memory, like a photograph. I was home!

Mother and Father had built themselves a "kårhus" called Kveldsro, meaning Evening Peace. (It was a smaller house on their own farm, now sold to their heir.) Mother stood on the steps waiting, having slept not a wink. Father came out; he had slept a bit. My dear parents were old now. The years had not passed without leaving tracks. Single I was when I left them. Now I stood there with a husband, and a whole troop of children.

It was the summer of 1924 that we got our first furlough. The four years at Oscarsberg were over, and it was decided that we were to get two years' furlough in Norway. Everything we had and owned had been nailed down in boxes and much of it sent home. We were nine persons who had to have our clothes, bedding and other necessary equipment for our own house-keeping during our stay.

On 22 May we sailed from Durban aboard the ship the Barabul, a large vessel with about 900 passengers. The dining-saloon could accommodate 400, and we had to have two sittings, in order that all

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could have their meals. In addition there was a separate children's section.

The ship came from Australia, and many of the passengers were English girls who were going home to Europe to show their children. They had married Australian servicemen during the war.

My husband had not been particularly keen on this trip to Norway. He had not been home since his 19O5-19O7 furlough, and now he felt that it was so long since then that he wouldn't cope with the demands they would make on him. He went about dreading falling short in the conditions which had steadily become unfamiliar to him. (He was 55 years old.)

After having stood on deck waving to all who had come to see us off, for as long as we could see the quay, we noticed heavy seas. It wasn't long before he lay sick on his bunk, and complained about what we had under-taken. He saw me battling with children and baggage and evidently thought we had done something dreadful. I asked him to keep quiet! Although it looked like sheer drudgery to begin with, we did get organized.

The two big boys, Claus and Haakon, had bunks lower down in the ship, and Margrethe shared a cabin with a lady next-door to us. The two boys came to our cabin, the one looking paler than the other. They vomited into our basin, and blocked it completely. We didn't know how to get it clean so we had to leave it until the next morning. One of the employees got the job of cleaning up, poor thing!

It was a disheartening start to the journey. Then we found on one of the bunks a telegram from the Hallendorff family of Oscarsberg in which they wished us Bon Voyage and God's blessing. That cheered us up no end.

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On board ship there was only one class of passengers. All of us could mix at will. Below deck there were large laundries housing concrete wash-tubs with hot and cold water. Here it was wonderful to wash clothes and bath the little ones. There were many of us mothers of young children. Clothes-lines were stretched across the deck and nappies flapped there in the breeze.

The voyage from Durban around the southernmost tip of Africa to London took 17 days. With the exception of some dismal hours in the English Channel, where we lay totally shrouded in the densest fog and heard only the hooting of other ships' fog-horns and our own, it was a delightful trip with lovely weather.

We stayed in London for a few days. My husband's brother-in-law from his first marriage, Claus Hærem, was there. He came to the hotel and showed us around the great metropolis. Margrethe, 17 years old at that time, remained behind as guest of her uncle and aunt for a while.

A train to Newcastle and a Norwegian ship from there. The North Sea offered the most glorious weather, and slowly the coast of the Old Country rose from the sea. The fir-clad land emerged from the haze on the horizon.

What a joy to see all this again, what a pleasure to be able to meet my many dear friends and large family!

We reached Stavanger, where the Mission Society was just opening its General Assembly. Emil Birkeli, a missionary priest from Madagascar, met us on the quay. We were accommodated with my husband's friends and acquaintances in the town. He attended the different proceedings. Personally I had the opportunity to attend one divine service and the reception at the home of the General Secretary Amdahl. Four years later he was our guest at KwaMondi.

Stavanger was just an in-between stop. The express coaster took us northwards along the coast. In Kristiansund we met that veteran missionary to the Zulus Ole Stavem, who was more than interested in news from the field. He has written a good deal about the Zululand Mission, that splendid man with the huge cheek beard.

We sailed into Vinje Fjord and reached Vinjeöra on a bright summer night. My brother Nils met us with horse and trap, and my brother-in-law, Martin Gravdal, had brought his long waggon. We sure needed it for all the baggage we had. There was room enough for all of us, and all our things.

What a glorious sight, my childhood home in sunshine, Father and Mother!

Eight of us, it was quite an invasion. The big boys had to sleep at Lian, even though Kveldsro had been extended before we came.

The summer turned out a gorgeous one with brilliant weather. Family and friends we hadn't seen all these years, visited us. The children had learnt Norwegian out there; now they acquired the right twang of the dialect by playing with their cousins.

I washed nappies in the Gammelbudal stream. Before daybreak that first night I went down there and washed dirty clothes which had accumulated during the journey. Just to see the crystal clear water of that stream was a pleasure.

It was absolutely incomprehensible that people could sleep away such a beautiful summer night. How often had I not longed for just such nights when darkness came creeping early in the evening, as it does in Zululand all the year round!

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The season for mowing and raking hay; it was like experiencing a part of my youth again. We went to church by motor-boat. Before I left home, the conveyance had been my father's four-oar boat. He still had it. He loved walking, and he loved rowing.

Great interest was shown in what I was able to tell people about Zulu-land. I attended several Kvinneforeninger. At my brother Nils's the sitting-room was full, and the same at my sister Magnhild's, who lived so close that I had daily contact with her. I tried to get our boys to sing Zulu songs, but they were too shy to do s0.

In the autumn we moved to Trondheim, where we were to have our own home during our stay in Norway. My husband's itinerary for deputation work had been drawn up long before he reached Norway. Southwards to Bergen and Stavanger he went to keep preaching engagements. He also had a long trip to Northern Norway. On these trips he had the opportunity to visit relatives in Volda, and far north, on Skjærvöy.

In Volda his father's brother Karl Rödseth was poorly. His son Nils, my husband's best beloved cousin, lay dying. Both died while we were in Norway. Aage said:

"If we get another son, his name will be Nils."

Before we returned to South Africa in 1926, our Nils saw the light of day and was christened in the Nidaros Cathedral in Trondheim.

Just as it was out there in Zululand, so also here, my home became the centre of my activities. When the opportunity arose, I paid visits to the different kvinneforeninger in town. I also started one in our neighbour-hood. Some of the women gathered to enjoy fellowship over a cup of coffee and their handwork.

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We read from the Mission Tidings, and I told them a little about the work among the Zulus.

The following summer we travelled back to Kveldsro. It was to be our last summer with both Mother and Father among us.

My sister Anne came home from America. We hadn't seen each other since 1910. All those years we had felt close, and letters had diligently carried thoughts and feelings across the ocean. The children had received little gifts as each one arrived. Now they saw the America aunt, but it was just for a few short months, and then she was gone again.

Christmas 1925 my parents came to Trondheim to celebrate the festival. They stayed with my brother John, but on Christmas Eve all of us were gathered at our place in Höyskole Road. What a fine Christmas Eve! Father led the walking and singing around the Christmas tree, as fond as ever of singing.

That was Mother's last Christmas. She had earlier had serious attacks of gall stones. Just after New Year, while they were still in Trondheim, the attacks resumed with renewed vigour. We could tell that the end was approaching.

"I think you're leaving us, Mother," said I.

"Yes, I am, but I'm not afraid. The blood of Jesus Christ, God's Son, cleanses from all sin, all sin."

How I had dreaded saying good-bye to Mother on departure for Zululand! Now it was she who said good-bye to us. It was passing strange that it was I who had been away for all those years, who should stand at her sick-bed for the final hours. None of my sisters got there in time.

We accompanied her on her last journey to Hemne Church, and afterwards there was a large funeral gathering on Lian.

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It was the last time we were in Hemne during that trip to Norway.

The aching void left by Mother's death was indescribably great. For us it meant in the first place that there would be no more letters from her. Regularly and faithfully they had reached us throughout all those years.

It was worst for Father. He couldn't live alone at Kveldsro and so he moved over to my brother Nils at Lian. He came to Trondheim to say good-bye to us, seemed so alone and lonely without Mother. It was the last time we saw him.

To say good-bye has never been easy, but it is an integral part of life. Perhaps missionaries, more then most people, have to learn to take leave. Once again we had to say good-bye to brothers and sisters and their families, and to friends both old and new.

The Swedish freighter on which we were to sail was called "Sydic" and carried timber from Fredrikstad to South Africa. We had only the five youngest children with us, the three eldest remained behind: Margrethe to train as a nurse at Lovisenberg, Claus and Haakon to join Uncle Claus Hærem's family on holiday at Sauda in Western Norway, and to go back with them to England for a visit.

After a pleasant voyage with my husband's cousin, Bertha Rödseth, and Esther Storjord from Nordland, as travelling companions, we eventually reached KwaMondi. It was like arriving home.

Dorthea Tvedt was still there. The kvinneforening had been taken care of by our successors, Margaretha Titlestad and Jenny Aadnesgaard. Margaretha Skavang and Emilie Larsen had begun the Industrial School at "Solheim", half-way between KwaMondi and Eshowe town. It became thus a friendly neighbourhood.

We could tackle a new spell of work in Zululand.
 
 
 
 

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SNAKE IN THE TROUSER-LEG

I have killed many snakes in my time in Zululand, but only one was a black mamba, the most dangerous of them all. It was while I was still at the girls' hostel at KwaMondi, that is, in my earliest and most inexperienced period of time out here.

In the afternoon the girls had been out working for a while in the field as usual. When they were on their way home, I met them under some large trees which stand behind the house. Just then a big snake glided past us down towards the edge of the grass.

I grabbed the hoe of one of the girls and ran after it, overtook the snake and struck it. The first blow struck it across the back, fortunately, otherwise it could have thrown itself towards me. The mamba is as quick as lightning in its movements, the body long and slender and the bite fatal, unless an antidote is given immediately.

The girls yelled. They knew how perilous this was.

"Fancy daring to kill snakes!" said one of them.

"I'm more afraid of letting them live," I replied.

Thus the first snake I killed was one of the most dangerous. Since then I have killed other snakes. They haven't all been equally dangerous, but I am not able to distinguish the different kinds with certainty, so I kill all I come across. One of

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the snakes I've killed, lay on the little mat in front of a bed in a room I entered. It looked like a belt which had fallen down.

Of the many dangerous snakes the green mamba is about as dangerous as the black. It prefers to stay up in trees. The hobosha is another dangerous snake, even though it isn't as slender and quick as the mamba. My husband killed one of them in the yard of the priests' school where our two-year old Eilif had played just a few minutes earlier.

People who live in this country all have snake stories to tell. One of the sons of Nils Braatvedt told me that snakes are not dangerous if people don't get in their way.

"If snakes had sought out human beings no people could have lived in Zululand. They are just as afraid of us as we are of them. It's when we get in their way that they are dangerous."

The same Braatvedt Junior also recounted an experience he himself had had with a snake. He and one of his brothers were home on holiday at their parents' at Ongoye. One day they were to help their father to burn off the dry grass in some fields in order to produce better grazing for their animals.

Snakes and other animals flee from the heat and the flames, but humans have to stay close at hand to prevent the fire from getting out of control. The two boys stood guard over the fire, each with a large tree branch.

Suddenly a snake came towards one of them at a great speed. It came directly towards the boy, evidently seeing this as a way of escape. Like

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lightning it squeezed its way up the trouser-leg and got its head right up into the trouser-pocket.

A nerve-racking situation, but the boy kept his wits about him. He grabbed the snake by its head and gripped hard. Retaining a good hold on it, he shouted to his brother to bring a knife.

He wasn't slow about getting out the pocket-knife. Then he cut off the head of the snake right through the trouser-leg just below the other's stranglehold.

My husband's sister, Marie Rödseth, told me that when Aage and Ragnhild journeyed to Patane she went with them to spend some time with them. She slept in the little veranda room where there were a bed, a chair and a wooden box serving as a bedside table. On the box there were a little cloth and a candlestick with a stump of a candle in it.

One evening after she had gone to bed and had put out the light, she felt a snake gliding across her chest. She knew that it was important to lie perfectly still. She didn't dare move so much as a finger. The snake crawled towards the wall. After a little while it glided back over her chest and disappeared on to the floor.

She didn't move until it was broad daylight. Then she called her brother, who armed himself with a stick and proceeded to examine the room. He found the snake under the box which served as table, and ended its days.

In Zululand there are lots of bees, and the Zulus like honey very much. A hunt for honey is not always successful, but seldom does it have the dire consequences I'll relate now.

The primary school at KwaMondi is right by the station

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house where we lived, between the church and the girls' hostel. Originally it consisted of a sturdy little stone house comprising two class-rooms. As the scholars increased in number extensions had to be added. The new frame-work was of wood, covered with corrugated iron.

With the school so close, the noises from it were an audible part of our everyday life. There was always a loud racket when the children had their recreation times, and when school closed for the day. The playground was small with the result that the school-children were practically right outside our door.

In addition we stocked and sold pencils, chalk, jotters and other school materials from our office. Often a long queue of children formed to buy school requisites.

Every day one of the school-boys fetched post from us. The teacher handed it out to the children, who took it home. This was practical for those who lived far away and had a steep hill to negotiate to get to our station.

Every Friday was there was "spring-cleaning". Some children tackled the class-rooms, while others swept the yard and playground with brooms. The cloud of dust was sky high.

In the newer part of the school - woodwork covered with sheets of corrugated iron - bees found it wonderfully conducive to making hives. Several swarms of bees occupied those hollow walls. By and large, they didn't cause trouble, as far as children and teachers were concerned; in a way, they got used to one another.

However, bees would swarm. Then it was imperative to get out of their way. Actually it was nothing short of dangerous for humans to be in the vicinity of the agitated swarms. On such days they ran away, helter-skelter, teachers as well as pupils. They fled down the hills with

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howls and shouts and rolled themselves in the grass. And then there was no more school that day.

With so many bees in the walls much honey was produced and accumu-lated. Those sufficiently brave souls whose tongues had been hanging out for the honey in the walls - and there are always such to be found - were able to loosen one of the sheets of iron and in that way get hold of the delicacy.

At twilight one evening there were a couple of quite big boys who were on a honey hunt. They made a large torch of dry grass which they held by hand and lit. They tried to direct the smoke towards the bees as many had done before them with great success.

Soon the grass was burning lustily. However, the boys hadn't reckoned with the fact that the sparks could fly far. Within seconds the dry wood-work had caught fire and the honey hunt had an entirely different outcome from the one they had thought: the school burned to the ground. Only the ruins of the first stone building remained standing.

It's an ill wind that blows no one any good, goes an old proverb. Now the school had to be built up from the foundations, and with that it could be moved to a better site. On a lovely bare ridge beyond our amathungulu hedge it was open and spacious. Here the school would be situated.

The missionary Sigurd Solberg was chosen as chairman of the building committee. He was a man of practical good sense and insight into the art of building. The first thing he did was to organize brick-making down in the bottom of the valley. Thousands upon thousands of bricks were moulded.

To get them up the hill to the site would be laborious, but Solberg found a novel solution. Every day after

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school, all the school-children walked down into the valley, fetched a brick each and carried them up on their heads. Thus it was that Mr. Solberg could praise the children in his speech at the opening of the new school building, commending them for having borne the school on their heads, literally!

Later on there were many additions to the school. Today it has been taken over by the government and has something like 600 pupils. So the happy laughter of children can still be heard here.

But there are not many who can remember the honey hunt.
 
 

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DANCING-STEPS AROUND THE CHRISTMAS TREE

Christmas was the foremost festival of the congregation. South of the Equator it occurs in the middle of summer. Thus there isn't so much of the Christmas atmosphere for the one who is used to snow and frost-covered window-panes, but as soon as the many preparations got going early in the week of Christmas, expectations rose both with natives and Northerners. The Zulus did their utmost to make Christmas a very special festival, and the church was the hub of the celebrations.

It began with members of the congregation coming early in the week to scrub the large wooden church floor. School children began to plait long garlands of green foliage and flowers, which were hung up between the six wooden pillars in the church. On each of these pillars there was also a little shelf to put a candle. The illumination was naturally not first class, but with the help of the altar candles it was adequate for an evening meeting or an evening Christmas celebration.

The church benches were moved towards the walls to make room for the Christmas tree. The school children and the teachers took care of the decorating of the huge pine tree. Decorations consisted mainly of coloured paper and a few candles. It couldn't have been better!

The celebrating began with the children's worship service the day

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before Christmas Eve. The children had rehearsed the old and learnt new carols ahead of Christmas. Now they walked around the tree and sang lusti-ly. The missionary told them about Christmas, the manger and the Child, and thereafter there were some refreshments.

The children were served outside in the lovely weather. The refresh-ments were usually buns and a cup of tea. If we couldn't afford tea, some sugar in hot water served the same purpose. Afterwards there was the dis-tribution of sweets which they could take home with them.

Christmas Day was the day of the festival. Then the church was so full of Christians and non-Christians alike that there was not a single spare seat to be had. It was a very good opportunity to reach out to new people with the gospel of the Saviour of the world who was born Christmas night.

A day or two later it was the festival of the young people. That even-ing a large heap of gifts lay under the Christmas tree. As can well be ima-gined, it was generally very lively in the church that evening. The distri-bution of the gifts was the climax, even though the gifts were very modest, most of them. The wrapping paper was generally newspaper.

What they had, they gave with all their hearts: a green mealie to someone they loved, a large cooked sweet potato to a close friend, or a packet of umfino, the newly sprouted leaves of the pumpkin plant chopped up into a kind of spinach, to a good friend. Some had made a wooden spoon or perhaps could afford to buy something, ever so small. The presents were distributed amidst many comments and much enjoyment.

A young boy who worked for Mrs. Edle Solberg in her kitchen, had helped himself to a silver spoon

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to wrap up and place under the Christmas tree. Undoubtedly he was unaware of its value, but considered it pretty. And the madam had so many spoons that she would surely not miss this one. But Mrs. Solberg didn't fully agree. She got to hear about the grand Christmas gift and enquired after the spoon. When she finally caught up with it, it had got all the way to Durban.

One day during Christmastide we had a festival for the aged. All the old people in the congregation were invited. They came early. They came wandering slowly up the hills, men and women alike, each with his stick, and gathered in the church. There was umfundisi, the priest, who told them about God's gift to the world, Jesus Christ, who saves from all sin.

Walking around the Christmas tree singing carols was part and parcel of the celebration, and they liked that very much. They sang the lovely Christmas carols we have in the Zulu hymn book. "O jul med din glede" ("O Christmas with thy joy") had been translated into Zulu, and soon became a clear favourite. They had a tempo of their own; they virtually danced and swayed around the tree; there was no end to their jubilation. So popular was that carol that it was almost risky to start singing it; the old people could hardly be restrained.

At one of the festivals, when the noise had subsided and the old bodies had settled down, Johana Zungu went forward and knelt on the floor. She prayed a very moving prayer for salvation for herself and all sinners, that God would have mercy on them. Truly, God has many kinds of children.

Agnete Mpanza had been at work since early morning cooking food for the old people, one large pot each of meat, soup, potatoes and rice. The guests were placed in a circle on the grass in front of our house. We

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didn 't have cups and dishes for so many, but Agnete was not at a loss. Meat and potatoes could be served on banana leaves. When it came to the soup, she filled the large water ladle and went round and let all drink by turns. Satiated and full of thanksgiving the old people wandered back home to their huts.

On Christmas Eve there was always a divine service in the church. After it we went home to celebrate Christmas with our children, who had all come home. They had brought out the carton of Christmas decorations and put a stand under the little pine tree which we had placed in the lounge. Under the tree there were little gifts for each one. I remember that one year Ragnar, who was then a big school boy in Durban, had wrapped up a lovely silver vase for me. He had won it in a sports competition. My eyes filled with tears; I knew what such a prize means to a school boy. Otherwise the gifts were not big, but everyone received something and all were contented. No one thought that anything should be different. Before the singing around the tree we had dinner. My husband had put up a large tarpaulin over the veranda. Under it we set a long table. At this time of the year it is so hot everywhere that it was coolest to do it this way.

Turkey was lacking; that was expensive food, but everyone liked roast chicken. That was our Christmas Eve dinner. For dessert we had rice pudding with almonds and plenty of fruit from the garden. We ourselves considered it a fine Christmas table.

At Christmas-time 1928 the General-Secretary Einar Amdahl came for a visit. That evening I made "römmegröt" (cream porridge), a dish I knew that a fellow from Selbu would appreciate.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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FAITHFUL MEMBERS OF THE KVINNEFORENING

The church at KwaMondi was our nearest neighbour. Perhaps that was why Sundays were so different from week-days. When the bell rang for the third time at the beginning of the service at eleven o'clock, the church was already full, and "sangen steg opp for åpne döre". (the singing arose from open doors.) We heard the happy full-toned congregational singing; it reached us on our short walk to church and set the mood for worship. The singing did not die down until the priest stood before the altar.

There came the church official to the chancel, old Kalvin Zungu, poke-necked and grayhaired, and read the church prayer. Zungu was a Christian and a chief, installed by the authorities. He was also my husband's never-failing helper. If Aage was away on a Sunday Kalvin could take the service. A particularly good speaker he certainly was not, and with his modest reading proficiency he needed plenty of time to read through the Scripture text, but he had a message from the Lord he had to deliver.

Kalvin had his difficulties, too, like so many others. His wife, Johana, was kind and good in many ways but had become addicted to beer, and loved beer-drinking parties. It was in deep conviction of sin on this score that she had knelt in the middle of the church floor during

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the Christmas celebration. When she came home drunk, it was to the sorrow of her husband and their children. Some of the children took after their mother, but most of them evidently turned out well. Unfortunately it's all too easy for young people to go astray; with such a mother as their example it's easier still.

One of the women led the congregational singing. When the collection was taken, everyone took part, big and small, even if they had only a penny to give. All walked around the altar in single file singing lustily. An offertory hymn was chosen. If it wasn't long enough, the congregation started at the first verse again. The taking up of the collection took time, but they had plenty of time on a Sunday.

After the service we had to shake hands with as many as possible, and have a chat. There was enough time for that, too, before they set off down the hills again, dressed in their Sunday best, and walking in groups.

In the afternoon we sometimes held a service in Norwegian. Right from the time of Ommund Oftebro it had been customary to gather our countrymen for a service in the station church. The ever-increasing number of Norwegian families living in Eshowe and on farms around in the district, had no church "home". The missionary felt a keen responsibility for them. It wasn't easy for them to join the Anglicans or the Methodists. They were Lutheran, they were Norwegian, and not all of them were good at English.

Oftebro's concern for them led to his inviting them to a Norwegian service, after he had finished the Zulu service. How regularly these services were held at the beginning, I don't

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know, but they became traditional. The missionaries at KwaMondi succeeded one another in the course of the years, but the arrangement regarding the Norwegian service was maintained right until a Lutheran service was started in Eshowe town. The missionaries saw it as a part of their mission work to serve their fellow expatriates in this way.

We tried to make it a regular monthly service. Little by little cars came into general use, so it was no problem to come from the town and the district.

After the service there was always church coffee at the station, and that was very pleasant. We got to know one another, and felt like a little Christian congregation.

Within the Norwegian community christenings, confirmations, marriages and burials were conducted. In the Norwegian cemetery many countrymen have been laid to rest in the course of the years.

By the 189Os when there was a little crowd in the Eshowe area who felt joy and gratitude to the Mission for what it did for them through this simple congregational work, they wished to do something in return. The most natural thing to do was to start a kvinneforening on the pattern of those we have at home in Norway, and which they knew so well from their own youth. The association was started in 1891. We don't know how regularly it met for the first years, but it wasn't long before it was a regular and welcome guest in the Norwegian homes in the area. When Ommund Oftebro died in 1893 after 41 years' pioneer work, one of the last things he said was that the Norwegians

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must not stop working for the Lord by means of the kvinneforening.

It was the privilege of the missionaries' wives to further the work of the association, a thing all of us have done in turn. It came to a standstill for a time after Ragnhild died; then Dorthea Tvedt and I took it over.

For many years the money we collected went direct to the Mission Secretary. Then we agreed to work for special projects. Of course, no large sums of money were involved, but we could pay for some benches for a new church or for repair to an older church. We also bought quite a good little pedal organ for the church at KwaMondi.

The meetings were work-parties. Many kinds of handwork were produced and sold at an annual sale of work. We had no problem selling the articles. The English population was helpful in every way; they came to the sales and bought what we had made. We acquired a reputation for attractive handwork. The first sale in 1892 realized £4O sterling, with the raffles included, a large sum by the standard of those days. One of the reasons that the sum was so large was that many of the raffled articles where returned to be raffled afresh. Many of the objects had been donated by business men in the town.

Missionary David J. Meberg from Vanse was the principal of the Indus-trial School for Zulu boys at KwaMondi in the 189Os. His wife was one of the founders of the association. He relates that once he won an English crystal vase worth £2. Twice he returned it, but he won it again each time. He then kept the vase and took it with him to Norway,

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where he donated it to a raffle in his home parish fifty years later. It realized fifty kroner, no small sum in 1950. That was a vase which served the Mission well.

Ripples of blessing have spread from our kvinneforening. Not first and foremost because we have collected such and such sums of money, but because the Christian fellowship has always played a large part. The missionary generally took part and led the devotions, and we sang well-known, well-loved hymns from home.

Since the war the association has received a boost, but now it is in the process of losing its Norwegian character, which is reasonable. American missionaries joined our association wholeheartedly, so what we miss now, is the reading aloud from the Norwegian Mission Tidings. It had to be dropped when we changed to speaking English at the meetings.

The work in the native kvinneforening at KwaMondi was one of the pleasantest things I was a part of. We had a faithful group of older women who never missed a meeting of the association. It was the three sisters - Maria Magdalena, Agnete Mpanza and Johana Zungu. Later on there were Agnete's daughter Dina Zulu and daughter-in-law Bertha. Mesia Lutuli belonged among the most faithful, to0. Later on Mary Mkize, the wife of a teacher, came and became a good help in the work of the association.

There were more, besides these. In my mind's eye I see the crowd, those dear well-known faces, 1O-12 in number, happy women on the floor in a Zulu hut. They embroidered, plaited mats or produced other handwork: tasks given according to age, strength or "technical" ability. While they worked, Zulu songs, sung in harmony, rose to the roof of the hut - and even higher. There was joy in every stanza. "Glory, glory hallelujah" was the undisputed favourite. They had been taught it by the missionary doctor Christian Oftebro, who in his time led a choir at KwaMondi.

The meetings were held once per month, either at Dorthea Tvedt's, or at my house or in the home of another member of the association. Serving refreshments was by no means obligatory, but most hostesses wished to serve them. It created extra cosiness. One of the hostesses cut slices of bread and spread with syrup. That was nice. I had talked to a young woman and asked if we could come to her home to hold a meeting one day. Yes, certainly. When the day duly dawned, she wasn't at home. Evidently she had had nothing to serve us, poor thing, and so she preferred to disappear. That day we held the meeting under a tree.

At Dorthea's or at my place buns and tea were always served. This was something special. The guests did justice to the refreshments.

One of those who was always with us, was an old woman called Eva. She could neither plait mats nor sing. Eva was one of God's little ones. She had very poor eyesight. But she loved buns. When the refreshments were served she slipped a bun under the hem of her skirt. I caught Mary Mkize's eye, and knew that she understood. We made sure that the plate of buns did the rounds once more so that Eva could take a little extra home to her family.

The women of the association had nice clean huts, well kept and freshly washed with cowdung. There was only a modest amount of furniture, but generally they had a chair

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or a stool for Dorthea and me. They themselves preferred to sit on the floor.

The articles we made were sold at our own sale of work, and the money went to the congregation.

We took it in turns to lead the devotions. They were keen to take charge. Maria Magdalena was especially happy to be responsible for the time of devotion. Her favourite text was from Matthew 25, the chapter about the five wise and the five foolish virgins. She expounded the Bible text with strong and colourful Zulu images. To underline the seriousness of the text she stamped the floor of the hut with her foot. Those calves which didn't get home by nightfall, risked being shut out of the cattle-fold. To be kept outside during the long dark night entailed great dangers. It is important to have oil in the lamp when the bridegroom comes, so we'll not be left standing outside the fold. They were powerful and substantial Zulu words.

Once Mesia was very late arriving at Dorthea Tvedt's for a meeting. That was not like her. She eventually came in precipitately, excited and out of breath. Eagerly she told us what had happened.

When she came in from the field to wash herself and change into her best dress, the hut door was locked. Her husband had gone to see to the cattle and had taken the key with him. What to do? Mesia refused to be baulked.

"I told Satan: 'It's you hindering my going to the meeting, but you shan't succeed, even if I get there ever so late.'"

Mesia then ran off, found her husband and the key, went home and changed. Now she was

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here, admittedly rather late, but she had triumphed over Satan. For the natives the contest between those two powers was something quite natural: Christ on one side, and Satan on the other. This clear distinction between light and darkness, good and evil has come with them from heathendom.

Since olden days the oldest women had held a prayer-meeting in the church every Friday afternoon. They agreed among themselves that they would start to visit in the homes and at the hospital. Many older people needed help to fetch firewood and water and to sinda, which is to "wash" the floor with cowdung. Several of them lay ill in their homes or in the hospital at Eshowe and needed attention. There was a real need for a ministry of visi-tation in the congregation.

Two by two they went out into the congregation to carry out this practical service. The visits always included singing and devotions.

This ministry became an example to other congregations, the idea began to spread. The foundation was laid for a comprehensive movement. The work spread to all congregations within our section of the Lutheran Church, and it has proved viable to this day.

The movement had to have a name, and there was no lack of suggestions. For a while they called themselves "prayer women", later it became the "weeping women", with the thought that they wept with the suffering ones. The name which they finally kept, was Abasizikazi, "the helping women". It's a lovely name.

Subsequently it was arranged that the women who were to be "the helping women", should be dedicated

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by the priest of the congregation. It is now a movement with its own executive committee and its own annual general meeting. The money collected goes into their own fund which is used for the good of the church. I can mention that when Kilborn J. Msomi was ordained Dean in the "Norwegian" synod of the large assembly of Lutheran Churches of South Africa, they bought him a car. He was in dire need of a vehicle, but there was no money in the ordinary budget of the church. In this way he acquired a spacious car to transport himself and a crowd of co-workers around in his widely dispersed deanery.

A uniform was essential because all other organizations had theirs. They began with a black dress and a large white lace collar. We were a bit afraid that vanity might prevail. They agreed on a plain white collar on the black dress, and it looked nice. Subsequently they added white cuffs to the long sleeves, a silver cross and chain about the neck, and a black headdress.

I only hope that they will never lose sight of their original thought which was to serve their fellowmen in the congregation with care and neighbourly love.

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"AS THE HORSE WAS STUBBORN. . . "

My husband's working day began at crack of dawn. First thing, he assembled the servants and the native school boys living at our place, in the church for morning prayers. Thereafter the boys generally did an hour's work in the garden. After breakfast they went to school.

After breakfast and family prayers he went to his many duties. Around the station he was constantly visiting the different kraals; at regular intervals he visited outstations and was away the whole day. He had to see that the school buildings in the area which belonged to the Mission were maintained, and that the children received the Christian religious instruc-tion laid down in the syllabus. "Many things neglected in the day school", he might write in the diary.

During visits he generally examined the pupils, so these inspections took much of his time. The equipment wasn't always of the best kind. "In-spected the school, checked to see that all have slates and books. Nearly all had slates; and although there is a shortage of books, most of them had the Bible-history and the catechism, but of these there was no abundance."

Especially in the beginning I was able to accompany him on his trips in the district. We had two horses,

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so I could ride with him. On my very first trip I remember that I met a lame girl. She was clever with her hands and had learnt some sewing, but had no sewing-machine. So I got hold of a used sewing-machine, and with that she was able to earn her living by sewing for the women in the neigh-bourhood.

By and large these trips were subsequently discontinued. We could not afford to keep two horses. But I could walk about in the neighbourhood and visit the Zulu homes.

The horse was my husband's usual means of transport for most of his missionary life. It was often slow. "Began a drive with Esther and Helga to Entumeni at 11 o'clock and arrived there at 6 o'clock, as the horse was stubborn," he once wrote in the diary. Seven hours was an unconscionably long time for a stretch of 15 English miles, about 25 kilometres. Schreuder's second wife lived at Entumeni. She was born Vedeler and was Ragnhild Rödseth's aunt. She was the one they were visiting.

Keeping a horse wasn't always a joy: "The first thing which met my eyes on my arrival home yesterday evening was my horse, which lay dead at the stable-door. Today we have buried it. I have had it for about half a year. It is quite a heavy loss."

Horse-sickness was a very real problem at that time.

One day when the two youngest of our children were so big that I could leave them behind, I went with Aage on a trip to Umhlatuzana outstation. I borrowed Otto Aadnesgaard's good riding-horse. My husband was visiting the school and the congregation there. It was a fine day with glorious sunshine.

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Bonisiwe Mhlongo, the wife of the evangelist, served us a dinner of chicken, potatoes and tea. The meal was delicious, but before it was over, the sky became overcast. As it darkened steadily we had to hasten our departure.

On the way home we had to cross a wide furrow of stagnant water. My husband waded through it while my horse took a leap and jumped gracefully right over it. We landed safely on the other side, and I was encouraged to brave the rest of the trip.

Then the rain came. It poured down. In an instant we were soaked to the skin. The rain soon stopped, but everything was wet, including the path where we were riding; it became wet and slippery. Several times my horse stumbled, and I was very frightened, but all went well.

On the ascent from the Umlalazi Valley the path went over a mountain where there was a sheer precipice on one side. I refused to ride further on the narrow path, and my husband had to find a detour through a very stony patch. I was happy and thankful when we at length reached level ground again. That was to be my last ride.

Bonisiwe Mhlongo was widowed early. She was clever and enterprising, planting in her field and managing to make both ends meet. Every year she brought Christmas presents to both me and Mrs. Edle Solberg: sweet potatoes, tomatoes or something else. She displayed a joy in giving which warmed my heart. She came every year all those years I lived at Eshowe, and I still have contact with her. Unfortunately there is no evangelist in her village now. She herself leads the divine service in the school-house and has managed to keep the congregation together. Bonisiwe is exceptionally faithful and she is also involved in the work of the helping women.

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My husband was a member of the committee of examiners of the high schools, the priests' school and the teacher training college. This necessitated long trips. One of the longer ones was to Oscarsberg. To the teachers' college at Umpumulo it wasn't far, but the co-operating Lutheran missions had a school for evangelists far away in the Drakensberg, Emmaus, and to go there was an exhausting trip. The roads were bad, with rivers and marshes where they could get stuck.

Despite these potentially dangerous conditions I can't remember that I was afraid on his behalf. He was always very careful not to say when he would be home. He knew that if he didn't manage to keep his word, I would likely be anxious. He just said: "You'll see me when I come. I'll come when I come."

If ever I was anxious it would have been when he was out in the car. He was fifty-seven when he got his driver's licence, and he didn't ever become a good driver. Several times we only just avoided an accident. He would reach a steep hill, the car would stall, and he wouldn't know how to get it going again. He must have been in peril of his life many a time, but all went well. (I think my mother was unnecessarily nervous. I.G.)

If the car broke down and wouldn't go again he could not repair it himself. He was totally without ability and insight where things mechanical were concerned. If the car started, he drove off; if it didn't, there was nothing to do but get help.

The car itself was only one side of the matter. The roads were often anything but roads. Mud and clay adhered to the car and the wheels clogged so it was impossible

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to continue. Often we drove over sticks and stones, literally. She was quite right that missionary's wife who quoted the hymn: "Vei har du alle steder." (You have roads everywhere.)

Besides all the journeys of which there were particularly many during the years when he was the superintendent, he had innumerable duties. There were all sorts of ecclesiastical duties: preparation for baptism, divine services, Bible-studies, expounding texts to the evangelists preparing sermons, district meetings, visitation of mission stations, and even more.

As Superintendent he had a lot of office work. He corresponded with his co-workers, with the leadership at home, the government authorities, wrote annual reports and reported. He had no help in the office, and so the working days were often very long. He was efficient and impatient with others who had trouble coping. For many years he was both station manager and superintendent, but in August 1931 he was relieved of the position of manager of KwaMondi, when Otto Aadnesgaard took over the work.

Paging through diaries gives a good insight into a missionary's many-faceted working day and the problems he faces. They also tell us something about the difficulties confronting a young church in a country where heathenism surrounds her. Often she is weak and wavering. Her members need much guidance and care.

"Discussion with the priest....about his courtships and marriages and other matters." "Met a man I christened as a child, whereupon he left us. Suffering from syphilis." "Paul Zulu and Dina have been here in connection with.....engagement to a Roman Catholic. Roman Catholics

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are coming very close to us now." The examination at Emmaus: "Three expelled for immorality." "Married....from Eotimati in the office because the bride is pregnant."

The diaries are full of these short terse sentences, which in them-selves contain whole stories. We sense many tragedies behind these telegram like formulations. It wasn't always easy for the missionary, who most certainly demanded too much in many situations. Neither was it simple for those who fell into sin. There were sometimes very serious occurrences. In one place he tells about a woman "who was stabbed in the throat with a sharp bread knife and died instantly. It is the first time anything like this has happened among our Christians." She was killed by her husband in a fit of temper. Aage visited the unhappy murderer in the gaol: "He was very sad, but reckoned that he had not intended to murder his wife." And later: "Visited ... in gaol. He was very repentant and anxious. He is now going to Maritzburg." For the murder of a wife there was only one penalty. I think he was hanged.

In 1918 there occurred an accident with tragic consequences, although he does not write that those concerned belonged to the congregation. "House visit. One family sat at home drinking yesterday. Well into the day the wife wanted to get a large pitcher of beer over a wall into the centre room. The husband who was to receive it, was drunk and sleepy and dropped the pitcher, which fell on the head of a four month old child, who died at once."

On another occasion: "To the magistracy to meet Filemon Zulu. He was also badly injured in the faction fight at Impofana, which began with

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our evangelist David Mtembu being almost beaten to death. It is very sad."

About another one it says: ".... should be excommunicated. A heathen doctor has misled him to use witchcraft. He is also the cause of their mutually bad relationship."

What is new under the sun? Parents today complain about their children; they consider it difficult to bring them up. The Zulus thought the same over sixty years ag0. He describes a meeting with some men and women where these always equally valid questions were discussed: "Many spoke. All of them pessimistic about the condition among the children. Most of them considered that they had done their duty, but were unequal to the task." Does anyone recognize himself?

The work was not always easy; often he was met with only opposition and adversity. This is undoubtedly well-known in all missionaries' lives. "Called in at Chief Umbango's. He wouldn't call his people together for prayer and, as decidedly as before, refused me permission to build a school in his district."

"Went to ... to christen his dying wife, but he became so angry that we gave up the attempt. May God in His grace have mercy on her."

"To the Chief of Police regarding a policeman who kept a teacher out of school and spoke ill of our mission work. I was thanked for my report and the policeman was sent away."

"Accusations against ... that he is really the father of the child. Talked at length about the grievousness of a priest's fall into sin and admonished him." From further references we understand that he had to take a stand in

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this difficult case. Such tasks were faced by the missionaries. Without a settlement the matter would adversely affect progress in the circle where the accusations had surfaced.

The temperance cause lay close to the missionaries' hearts. Beer-drinking could easily get the upper hand, and it was regularly misused, with much harm in its wake. From a meeting on total abstinence, he relates, "... ca. 5O present. We have lost some members but gain no new teetotal-lers. Told them after the sermon today, that the natives in Durban spend £ 1 7OO sterling on beer in one month and spoke at length about the evil of drink and its consequences."

Fortunately there were also many encouragements, short little sen-tences which tell that the missionaries' daily life can be full of joy and optimism. "Divine service in the open. 6-7OO people present. Praise and encouragement about the mission work."

"In the afternoon we had a prayer meeting at the home of Mika Shobede, who has tuberculosis. He is at peace and committed to the Lord." He also visited some of his older fellow-countrymen. "They read and pray and think a lot about eternity."

Even though there were both prosperity and adversity, the diaries can give the impression that it was mostly the latter. Perhaps because it is easier to remember the negative side. On 31 July 1938 he prepares a kind of balance sheet. He was on the point of being pensioned and it was 4O years to the day since he came to Eshowe and KwaMondi. It reads: "There has been some progress, but not as much as one could have wished."

Speaking quite practically, the missionary's life presented many tasks. "Went to E. Junger's sick

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wife to help her by extracting a troublesome tooth." "Patched my shoes." "Was in town to beg money for the Christmas party for the young people." The begging brought in 1O shillings, I believe. "Taught writing and religion to 1O prisoners in the prison for a good hour." "Kvinneforening, read about Skrefsrud, H.N. Hauge and John Haugvaldstad." And later: "Roadmaking with some of the men of the congregation." Together with this joyous announcement: "Visited Chief Mhlongo, to whom I gave a pair of spectacles, with which he was very pleased."

Some of the tasks were trivial. "Struggled to get bees out of the ceiling over the bedroom. We have had to move out because of the bees."

District meetings as well as various combined meetings were numerous at our place. The congregation took care of the accommodating and the feeding of the Zulu participants, while the visiting missionaries stayed with us.

On Saturdays the evangelists of the district arrived to go through the text for Sunday. "We looked over two Sunday gospel portions and read two lectures about M. Luther." It was my privilege to take them food and tea.

I remember a priests' meeting where we had several visitors from other Lutheran missions. I was pouring coffee when two new guests came in through the door. It was the tall six-footer Johannes Astrup and the short tubby Pastor Pakendorff of the Berlin Mission. "Her kommer dine arme små," Pastor Astrup quoted the well-known Christmas carol. (Here come your poor little ones.) With that all of us were so full of suppressed laughter that we

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didn't know what to do with ourselves, but no one dared show it, because, of course, the German didn't understand Norwegian.

Dignified though he was, Dr. Astrup could nevertheless be full of fun. I was with him and his sisters Caroline and Henninge one evening when they sat and told us about their uncle's wedding. Old Hans Astrup married Miss Anna Steenberg in the church at Entumeni, and Johannes Astrup officiated.

When the bridal couple stood before the altar and the predominantly Zulu congregation were busy settling down, the bridegroom felt that he had to keep an eye on his beloved congregation, so he turned his head every which way. When the ceremony was over and they were sitting at the wedding reception, Johannes Astrup said to the restless bridegroom: "I'll never marry you again, Uncle."

We also had leading mission personalities visit us from both USA and Sweden. They were always pleasant visits. In 1928-29 our own General Secre-tary Einar Amdahl came on a tour of inspection; it was one link in a rather long journey to several of the mission fields. The year before, my husband had been elected superintendent, and it was he who had to travel with Amdahl around on the field. We had just acquired our car; it was summer with rain and bad roads. I was somewhat nervous about how the long journey would g0. But God was with them; everything went well.

One of the highlights during the visit of the General Secretary was the wedding of Gudrun and Martinus Haldorsen, who was the singer among our missionaries. My little girls were to be flower-girls, and little Nils aged two and a half years was to stand with them. He had

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a pair of navy blue velvet trousers and a white silk shirt. It was so difficult for the little fellow to stand still, so when the bridal couple knelt at the altar, he also knelt beside the bride. That was a happy day!

My husband also taught new missionaries Zulu. One of them has since told me that he was so pessimistic about the possibility of learning that difficult Zulu language that he decided to go back home. He was of the opinion that it couldn't be his niche in life. The missionary concerned (Pastor Peter Strömme) went to Aage and announced his decision. "Then Rödseth roared with laughter, and that laughter saved me."

A holiday was an unheard of thing in those days. It didn't exist at all. The furloughs were counted as a kind of holiday, although the mission-aries worked almost the whole time then to0. It did happen that we could take a few days off, but I know of only one occasion when my husband was free for a stretch of three weeks. That was after his wife Ragnhild died. Then he stayed at his sister's at Doonside.

His diaries also reflect a bit of our busy life with many guests. He writes: "This is a red letter day. Marit and I are alone with our six children." (It must have been after 24 July 1928, when Lars was born, and during a school holiday. I.G.) Not that the "aloneness" brought much joy, because in the next breath he writes that he had been busy since half past six in the morning until six in the afternoon and after that "office work until late in the evening". Somewhere else he writes somewhat ironically: "It isn't lonely here."

In all our activity and ministry to the natives it was easy to forget our own families. A Swedish

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missionary sighed: "We arrange children's and youth meetings for the natives in the holidays, but our own children are left to take care of themselves. Isn't it high time that we do something for them, too?"

The result was that the Swedes began youth meetings in the holidays. We were also invited, but it wasn't all that easy to get away. Then the thought struck me that we could perhaps organize something similar at our place. With that, it was done. The idea caught on. We discussed it here at our place and later with the priest in Durban. Both Elisabeth and Ernst Hallen were very enthusiastic about the suggestion.

The plans began to take shape. We would hold the meetings at our place at KwaMondi. The school hall could serve as dining-room; in the class-rooms the young people could sleep on palliases on the floor. Older persons who attended, would be accommodated in our home.

"Skandinavisk ungdomsstevne" we called it. (Scandinavian Youth Rally.) Invitations were printed and sent out. The meeting was to be in July 1928 and would last three days. The children would travel to KwaMondi straight from their Durban schools; then the parents could meet them at the Rally and take them home at the end of it.

We put up long trestle tables in the school hall and built a temporary makeshift kitchen for the long-legged cooking-pots, which had to have fires under them. We hired some Zulu women to take charge of the cooking, so that matter was in the best of hands.

The young people came from Port Shepstone, Durban and many other places. In addition there were all the missionaries' children who were a large crowd at that time. In all there were about eighty participants. Many Norwegians from Eshowe also came to attend the meetings.

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Pastor Ernst Hallen was the leader of the meeting, ably assisted by his wife and some of the missionaries who were present, both our own and those from other Lutheran missions. I believe that many young people made a clear decision to follow Christ at our rallies.

Petrine Solvik had recently arrived from Norway for the first time to work in the Schreuder Mission. During one testimony meeting she stood up and sang, "Jeg er en seiler på livets hav" (I am a sailor on life's sea), which none of us had heard before. I don't think that any of us who were present, can hear that sacred song without thinking of that good pious Miss Solvik. She gave her whole life in the service of the Zulus, and now she is at home with the Lord.

At the rallies there was time for outings. We had an open air meeting on the Mpondweni hill, at the memorial to the martyr Maqamusela. Another day we took coffee pots and cakes to the Eshowe Forest, where it was cool under the tall, heavy tree-tops.

The first youth rally in 1928 became an annual tradition. In due course it was moved to Umpumul0. The priest of the Norwegian congregation in Durban, Jostein Nesvåg, is the leader. He is thus the most recent in a long succession of men holding this position of leadership. Incidentally, it is now called a Youth Camp, and everything is conducted in English.

(That first Rally was early in July 1928. Marit was the prime mover. On 24 July, she gave birth to her sixth and last child, Lars. How did the old people do it? Her oldest child was only 9 years 1 month old. I.G.)

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HOME REMEDIES

During the course of one month in 1919 my husband buried 36 members of his congregation. Spanish 'Flu had spread throughout Zululand and ravaged natives and Europeans alike. Many died. Often it was young people. It was a bad time for all of us.

The district surgeon at Eshowe tried valiantly to stop the epidemic. He travelled about the district teaching farmers how to give injections. Even at our place we were given cinnamon drops, syringes and equipment. Every day for a long time crowds of natives came to be vaccinated and to get cinnamon drops. I was never able to ascertain how much it helped, because it wasn't possible to follow up those who had been injected.

Fredrik took ill. He was a strong young man and recovered compara-tively quickly. The prospects were worse for some of the native school-boys who lived at our place. Those who could, went home. One of them was fetched by his mother who carried him home on her back. He was well cared for and recovered.

Kornelius was a strong boy from a heathen home. His father came to fetch him, but the boy was too sick to walk, and the father had to return without accomplishing his errand. I cared for the boy as best I could.

One day he said: "I am lying looking at the doorway.

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If they come to fetch me, they won't get the bed out through the door." He himself had knocked together the bed. It wasn't wide, but neither was the door. He reckoned that they would have to carry him on the bed if they came.

His father did come again. He had several of his wives with him. Now Kornelius was going home! Most probably their intention was to get him "treated" by a medicine man. Kornelius refused to go with them. We didn't meddle in this affair. After protracted deliberations back and forth the father had to give in; angry and embittered he disappeared with his retinue.

It's an integral part of the story that the boy recovered.

Then we had a malaria epidemic one year. It's possible to have malaria in one's body all one's life without dying of it. At regular intervals it breaks out and one has attacks. Once one has malaria, it is difficult to get rid of it.

When malaria attacks the brain, it is often fatal. That happened to Fritjof, the son of missionary Martin Titlestad. He took ill one Saturday and died on the Monday. At one stage the hospital at Eshowe was crowded out. Patients lay in the corridors and on the veranda. Two of our Norwegian farmer friends fell victim: Gabriel Steenberg and Ommund Sivertsen.

Sivertsen and his wife Kristine lay in the hospital simultaneously. Their daughter came from Durban to see to her parents. When her father died, she dared not tell her mother until she had recovered.

There has always been malaria in Zululand, especially along the coast. People who lived there had to take quinine regularly. It had side effects,

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because quinine affects hearing adversely. In a couple of the missionary families there was resulting deafness.

After this serious epidemic the government launched an extensive cam-paign to exterminate the malaria-carrying mosquitoes. Stagnant water and all marshes were sprayed. Officials and their labourers carrying cans of spray on their backs even went into the backyards of private homes to search out and spray any rainwater left standing in tins. The campaign was successful, and we have not heard of malaria since then.

We fight against mange, fleas and bed bugs. It sounds incredible, but we had to wage the war of berserkers against fleas. What the reason is, I don't know, but now we no longer see a single flea.

Kirsten loved cats. One day she brought a stray kitten home. I did not realize that it had mange. The children and I were all infected and had to undergo drastic treatment. It was certainly no joke. Subsequently Dr. Karl Titlestad taught me to make an ointment which was effective. I used it to help many native children.

Many people, big and small, suffered from "Natal sores". Once all my children had them at the same time. They were little boils which appeared on the legs and developed into open sores. We tried everything possible before we got rid of them. I believe there's an end to these sores as well.

Work-seekers approached us frequently. I remember two fine girls who came carrying a hoe each and wanting something to do. Behind the church we had a banana plantation which required occasional weeding. The girls were set this job.

Some hours later they came back. Blood was flowing from the foot

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of one of them. She had misjudged when she swung the hoe, and the sharp new blade had struck her between the first two toes on one foot. I got out some boracic acid solution and clean rags and tackled the cleansing and banda-ging. She went off with some of the solution in a bottle, a few clean pieces of cloth, and instructions on how to dress the wound. Taking their wages, they set off for home. I was a bit apprehensive about the outcome. They had a long way to go, and I could not be certain that she would continue the treatment as recommended by me.

The days passed, and I had soon forgotten the whole episode. Some weeks later she suddenly stood outside my door with four little eggs in an old rag. The wound had healed well, and now she came to show her gratitude. Seldom has a gift moved me more than those four little eggs.

On the whole it was incredible what one could accomplish with simple remedies. In serious cases we sent for the Eshowe district surgeon; otherwise I doctored to the best of my ability. What I had learnt in the course at Lovisenberg stood me in good stead.

Often natives came who had wounds or had been injured in other ways. One mother brought a daughter who had been kicked in the forehead by a donkey. The wound was deep, but I had nothing to treat it with except my universal remedy, boracic acid solution. The wound healed, and the girl suffered nothing more serious than the scar.

One day there came a man with some ugly wounds he had received in a fight. Among other things he had

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been struck on the head and his skull fractured. I can't comprehend now how I dared tackle the job of doing something for him, but boracic acid solution and clean cloths served the purpose once more.

Often natives came to us with ugly septic sores on their legs. I would use hot water and Epsom salts to cleanse the pus out of the sores, and follow that up with boracic acid solution. A little warm oil could cure earache. A drop of castor oil in an eye would remove a speck of dirt. An onion cut up, and tied in a large handkerchief around the throat cured throatache.

Those who came with large ugly burns were worse off. One little boy had had a dish of hot mealie meal porridge spilled over his throat and chest. It looked very bad. I used cloths soaked in a mixture of boracic acid solution and glycerine. Then I put a lot of Vaseline petroleum jelly on it, and the burns healed.

Another little boy had fiddled with the paraffin lamp until it fell over on him. The boy was very badly burned on the chest and the thighs. Fortunately the abdomen was unharmed. The mother lived so far away that she had to stay with us while the sores healed. She also had another child with her.

The youngest was a lovable child whom my Kirsten was allowed to tend and look after, to her great joy. Some time later I heard that the child had died suddenly. The news made me glad, because by then the mother had contracted T.B. and did not live long. I am quite sure that she met the little one again at home in heaven.

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RESOURCEFULNESS AND KINDLY DISPOSITION

The missionary conference was the main event of the year. Everyone looked forward to it. The conference did the rounds of the mission stations. It was held in the month of May, while the children were away at school. The smallest children went with us. We generally had a nurse-girl with us if the children were so small that they had to be watched the whole time.

For the missionaries' wives the conference was a holiday. We could sit with our knitting and listen to the discussions. They revolved around matters both great and small which had a bearing on the work. Here budgets and statistics were tabled, furloughs granted or withheld, proposed new buildings and new projects discussed, and information submitted regarding the state of affairs on every single station. It was a very long agenda, and the conference generally lasted eight to ten days.

Usually we numbered thirty-odd persons assembled for conference, so it was certainly no holiday for the hosts. Preparations began a long time, nay, months beforehand. On the big mission stations, KwaMondi and Umpumulo, there was plenty of accommodation, but in other places a good deal of resourcefulness was required to ensure smooth running.

I'm thinking of a conference at Ungoye in 1930, where Anna and Otto Aadnesgaard were our hosts. Aadnesgaard was a practical man who made a whole row of sturdy beds from poles and empty mealie meal sacks. The poles, pushed through slots made for the purpose in the sacks, rested on wooden boxes. On top of the suspended sacks he laid hessian palliases filled with dry grass. A paraffin case with a little cloth on it and a candle, served as bedside table.

The menfolk had to sleep in an outhouse which was originally built as a stable. The women and the little ones slept in the main house.

Aadnesgaard had slaughtered a pig for this conference. The meat was hung up in a grass hut, which was the coolest place. But then a missionary's little daughter had got hold of matches and set the dry grass wall alight, so it burst into flames at once. People rushed there, extin-guished the fire and the meat was rescued.

When we sat at table for midday dinner, the little girl said: "Ngiya-kuphinda mina." "I'll do it again." - But I imagine her mother made sure she took better care of the matches after that.

Bread for the participants had to be fetched from Empangeni some kilometres away. A man was sent off with a sack. When he returned, the sack as well as the bread was wet through. There was no bridge across the Um-hlatuze River, and the water was deep, so both the man and the sack got wet. But no one complained on that score; we took it in good part.

Kangelani was one of the stations which was most out of the way. It was a lonely place. The road there was not good at all. The last section was simply gruesome. We

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were going there for conference one year. Most of the missionaries had acquired cars. We to0. It was an American Nash we had bought brand new, a good car, but there was this thing about my husband's driving ability which I never considered good.

We drove over sticks and stones, literally speaking, on this Kangelani trip. One slope was worse than the one before, and I sat with the youngest child on my lap and my heart in my throat.

"Stop, I want to get out," I said. I was determined to walk those last kilometres. He had to stop, and I began to walk that last stretch with the youngest one in my arms. When the missionary priest Johan Kjelvei came driving along a little while later and offered me a lift, I was happy to accept. I considered his driving much better and more sensible.

Johannes and Gustava Nærö (Nero) were the hosts. They too showed great resourcefulness. They had got hold of a large tarpaulin which they stretch-ed between some tall trees behind the house. Under the tarpaulin we had a dining-room. Here a long table and benches were set up and lamps hung up. On one side a fireplace had been built of bricks. When we came to table in the evenings there was a fire which made it cosy while we ate. The month of May is winter here, and the evenings can be quite cold.

At one of the conferences which was held at KwaMondi, I remember that Karl titlestad was with us. He had just been appointed as principal of the teacher training college at Umpumul0. Young and enthusiastic he tackled his tasks; he was a bundle of sheer energy.

One evening after supper while all of us sat in the lounge, he was to read aloud to the conference members a thesis he had written on some theme or other. I listened for a while, but then I realized that there was no way I would be able to stay awake. I went to lie on my bed and slept for a while.

When it was time for evening tea, I said to Margaretha Skavang:

"You must please excuse me, but I was unable to keep my eyes open."

"You don't need to apologize for that; we slept, all of us," she replied.

So there were all sorts of incidents at conference. This particular one had a lot of children present; many had little ones at that time. I think we were over 4O persons present. Some brought nannies with them. Then early one morning two of them started fighting, so their madams had to go out to separate them.

One of the last years that my husband was an active missionary, we had the conference at Ekombe, which is situated far inland. The previous week, he and Kjelvei had attended a church meeting in the lowlands, at Umbonambi. Here they must have contracted malaria. They became feverish at conference. Respectively they were the Superintendent and the Vice-Superintendent. There was nothing for it but to close the conference and go home. Most of the agenda had been covered.

Kjelvei recovered fairly quickly, but Aage had a long, rough time in the hospital in Eshowe. The malaria went to his brain and he was delirious and confused for a whole week. Next to God we thank the capable doctors for his survival. Most of those who contracted cerebral malaria, died.

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For a long time we had discussed the advisability of having a fixed conference venue. There were many pros and cons. It was quite clear that it would be a loss for the other mission stations and their native congre-gations which would no longer have contact with the other missionaries. For the natives as well, it was a celebration to assemble with all the mission-aries for divine services and meetings.

There were a whole list of purely practical considerations which indicated that the venue should be a fixed one. I supported this idea. At one of the last conferences I attended, it was decided to make KwaMondi the regular conference centre. The one whose turn it was to host the conference was to travel to KwaMondi to prepare. There there was a large new building for a Bible School, where there was a dining-hall and a kitchen. Everything needed in the way of crockery was there, and it wasn't far to Eshowe town where we could buy all we needed.

But the memories of those conferences we had had in various places in Zululand, are many and good ones.

Of the women only those who were directly connected with the mission work had the vote, but all of us could say our say. One evening at one of the conferences I gave a talk on the position of the missionary's wife. The immediate reason for giving it was a little conversation I had had with the General Secretary Amdahl during his visit. I asked him what the mission friends (i.e. supporters) expected of the missionaries' wives.

"What the mission friends expect, I don't know, but I know what the mission executive committee expect."

"Well, what do they expect?"

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"They expect nothing."

That was a reply which both disappointed and comforted me. It disappointed me, because it gave me to understand how insignificant my position was, and comforted me, because it had always been my great sorrow that I could participate so little in direct mission work.

Missionaries' wives are of two types. One type comprises those who followed a calling and travelled abroad to proclaim the gospel, but whom life led into the humbler position of missionary's spouse. I was among those.

The other type consists of those who have arrived because they promised to accompany their husbands wherever they went. They had not had a specific individual call to mission work beforehand. The wives in this latter group probably sacrifice more in participating in their husbands' work than do those in the former.

Both groups meet many difficulties when they first come out. First and foremost a language they have to struggle with year after year. Then they have to keep house in a strange land where even the simple matter of ordering goods can entail big problems. To begin with, I spoke poor English, and where the Zulus were concerned, I had to manage with Zulu which left even more to be desired. Then the babies arrive, and take up time and strength. They have first priority with their mother. The consequence is that there is hardly any time left for house-visiting and other tasks which can be called purely mission work.

So then, what can a missionary's wife do for the mission? I shall quote some of the thoughts I expressed:

"Each of us can ensure that her husband gets adequate peace and quiet in order to do his work, and see to it that the children do not disturb him, when he is working in

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the office. We can ask him never to spare himself in the work, merely out of consideration for us. We can keep the house clean and neat and attrac-tive so that it is a pleasure for him to come home to it. In return, we have the privilege of being his close friend and adviser.

In the second place, we can talk to the Zulus who pass our door in the course of the day. In this way we get to know the Christians as well as the non-Christians. This is the test of our mission work, it seems to me. If we could use all the little opportunities which present themselves, I believe it would be of great help and blessing - to ourselves, to0.

In the third place, as many as possibly can do so, should assemble the women of the area for "kvinneforening", not so much with the thought of the work which can be accomplished, nor even the funds they can raise, but be-cause meeting in this way will result in edification and blessing. When all is said and done, it is we ourselves who will gain most from it.

And then we must never forget that the missionary's family life is the "book" which the Zulus read daily. They are quick to see all we undertake. With God's help, the family life of Christians must be lived in such a way that His name is glorified."

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SHE TALKED TO THE LORD

The person I noticed first when I was new at KwaMondi, was a tall, elderly Zulu woman. She came to church in a black silk dress with lace sleeves, and a straw hat with ostrich feathers waving back and forth. She had worked for Mrs. Adams in Eshowe, and had been given the latter's cast-off party clothes and hats. I got to know Maria Magdalena very well. She was a warm-hearted Christian, always interested in the congregation's weal and woe. She never missed a "kvinneforening" meeting.

Maria Magdalena was often asked to lead devotions, and this she did gladly. She was a widow with several grown-up children. I didn't know her sons well, but evidently they didn't bring her only joy. She had a fine daughter who had been trained as a school teacher at Umpumulo Training College. Later she had married an "umsutho" teacher and moved to Basuto-land, now Lesoth0. When her mother lay dying she came all that long way with her children to visit her.

The way Maria Magdalena became a Christian and came to Eshowe is a thrilling story. She was already old when I first came here and so she must have been born in the middle of the 19th century, at a time when the mission

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had not yet reached far into the Zulu nation. This is how Maria Magdalena tells the story of her life:

"As a child I had no knowledge of God. I looked at the sun and asked old people who had made it. I asked my mother, but no one could tell me.

I went with my mother to King Mpande's kraal where Father lived. With Father and Mother I visited the missionary Paul Wettergreen, who lived nearby. He was Father's friend.

'Is this your daughter?' the missionary asked.

'Yes, she is my eldest,' answered father.

'We need a girl to help us to look after our children. Will you let her come to stay with us?'

Father had to think it over before he replied, but he gave his con-sent.

I had never seen a white person before, so I was both afraid and curious. In domestic service I learned a great deal, and I was also taught in the Christian faith and was able to learn about God. The time drew near when I was to be baptized and accepted into the congregation. One day my relatives came to fetch me. I wept, and didn't want to go with them. The missionary prayed with me. He reminded me that I could always pray when alone, and that God would hear and help me.

My relatives took me home. I was so unhappy that I thought I would die. Morning, noon and night I cried to the Lord. They would not let me mention His name. I can't tell you how much I suffered.

Ten years passed. I was never happy. I prayed the whole time

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that God would free me from Satan. Life was like a wilderness wandering. I couldn't believe that God had heard my prayer, but He had.

One day there was a message from Prince Cetshwayo, who had never seen me, that I was to marry one of his courtiers, Sikonyane. Everything went black before my eyes. None of us could understand this. It was said that my father would be killed if he refused.

I thought: Does God truly want me to be forced to marry an unbeliever? No, He couldn't allow that. I trusted in God, even though I didn't then understand that this was His leading. The Lord of Heaven and Earth used Cetshwayo to save me without the Prince's knowing it.

They took me to the kraal where lived Sikonyane, that courtier whom I was to marry. I went like a sleep-walker. The King had sent for Sikonyane so he wasn't at home.

Then suddenly it was as though God's Spirit enlightened me. I talked to the Lord Himself. Never in my life have I experienced anything like it. A voice said to me:

'Get away from here. If you stay here, you are lost. Go to Natal to a mission station. Without Jesus you cannot be saved. These difficulties have befallen you to make you flee. Decide now! Go! If you want to belong to Jesus, you must flee. If you wish to belong to Satan, you can stay here. Don't be anxious about your father. He won't be killed. Just go! You can see that God is with you on the way.'

Fear and joy struggled in my heart.

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I couldn't sleep that night. The next morning I told the people in the kraal that I wanted to go home for a bit. I went home, but talked to no one there, not even to my father.

The next morning while the others still slept, I rose early and set off. Now I was no longer afraid. It was as though I had company. I reached Entumeni safely and went to Zakarioze. He looked at me and understood. He would gladly have accompanied me, but it was too dangerous.

Zakarioze hid me until darkness fell, and then I continued on my way. I didn't know the way, but by God's grace I reached the Tugela River the next evening. The river was full, and I found myself a hiding-place in the bushes. There I lay down, prayed to God and slept until the next day. I had no food. When I awoke, I cried to God:

'Father in Heaven, You Who are almighty, Who have led me on the way I didn't know, to the Tugela, where I have never been before, and protected me from wild animals, even though the forest is full of leopards, what is there to hinder You from helping me over the Tugela River?'

I heard someone whistling. Now they're coming to kill me, I thought, and turned around. There stood a young boy. He didn't say a word. I greeted him and asked where he came from.

'I am herding the cows,' he said, 'but then I had an urge to see the river.'

'Can you help me cross it?' I asked.

He said he could. We went out into the water, over the first stream and up on to an island in the middle of the river. He asked me to wait there while he went to check that

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the cattle hadn't gone into people's fields. I thought that perhaps he would fetch someone to kill me. After a long time he returned and helped me over to the other side. He asked me not to tell anyone that he had helped me. I knelt down and thanked God. Then the journey continued through a large forest until I at last reached a kraal. There I got a surprise. It was the home of an aunt of mine. She knew me, and I knew her. She placed food before me, but I was too tired to eat.

Here in the kraal I encountered a new difficulty. My aunt's husband wanted me as a new wife along with those he already had. He instructed everyone in the kraal to guard against my escaping.

I had no protection, but I cried to God. Then I had the idea that I should talk to the man direct and ask for a guide to accompany me where I wished to g0. I told my aunt this.

'You are mad,' she said. 'He will just tie you up and beat you.'

I made no reply but just went to his hut. I felt no fear. He asked me what I wanted, and I told him my errand.

'My son shall go with you and your aunt too.'

The people in the kraal were amazed.

'But you told us to see that she didn't run away,' they said.

'Let her go,' he answered.

The next morning we left. They didn't know that I wanted to reach Umpumulo mission station. We had to sleep en route and reached our destination the following day.

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Then I wept for joy, and thanked God that He had kept me from all danger."

Subsequently Maria Magdalena moved back to Zululand, to KwaMondi, where I made her acquaintance.

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SOME ZULU FRIENDS

Zikokiwe was the name of the worst beggar-woman I have ever met. Her name means: "They were a good investment." In this case "they" refers to the cattle a Zulu youth must pay for his wife when he marries. If he is so lucky that his wife bears him a girl, then the cattle he invested have paid dividends. He will get them back one day when his daughter gets married. That's why her father had given Zikokiwe this name.

It was at KwaMondi in 1918 soon after my marriage that she found her way up to the mission station. She was dressed like most of the heathen women, in a skin skirt. Her hair was styled in a tall red top-knot, stiff with soil and tallow. In her smiling black face there were two very lively bright eyes. Small and agile she came up from the Umlalazi Valley, about an hour's walk from the station.

She came into that old-fashioned kitchen of ours and seated herself on the bench over by the door. After the greetings and formalities were over, she came to the point:

"I'm asking for matches today. I have nothing to light a fire."

So she got a box of matches, but then she didn't have salt for the porridge, and then it wasn't nice.

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Eventually it would transpire that she didn't have mealie meal either, to make the porridge. After that it was sugar, soap and other things. She was indeed proficient at begging.

With some variation, the whole procedure was repeated at longer or shorter intervals. My Zulu was very deficient in the beginning, but I tried to talk to her about Jesus. It was like water off a duck's back. Down in the valley there were both church and school, and we had a very capable evangelist there, Charlie Manqele.

"Now you must go to Manqele and learn about Jesus," I said to her.

"Learn? I? Where would I get clothes?" she replied apologetically.

"God does not look at clothes," I said, without her changing her mind on that score.

Zikokiwe had three little girls. The eldest daughter grew up and married. When her first child was due, she was so maltreated by aunts and grandmothers that she died as a result. All female relatives are supposed to give good advice and be helpful. They tie strips of material tightly around the mother in labour to squeeze the baby out, and in this particu-lar case, they had also used a knife on her to open for the child. It is a gruesome custom the Zulus have from olden days, an inconceivably vast lack of commonsense.

That poor girl was carried up to us at KwaMondi, and my husband took her right away by car to the hospital in the town, but she died

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before they got there. It was a healthy and strong young girl who would in no way have died of childbirth, if only that "help" had been kept away. Now both she and the unborn child forfeited their lives. Fortunately there are now big changes. It's as though it has become the fashion now to take mothers who are in labour to hospital.

When this happened, Zikokiwe's other daughters were still young. Sometimes she would bring the children with her, and I became interested in them. One day I sewed panties for them while they sat outside waiting.

When we subsequently became pensioners and moved to Eshowe, Zikokiwe con-tinued to visit us. The distance was about five kilometres longer. One day when she came to us I wasn't at home, so she took her errand to my sister-in-law, "tante Maia".

"You must lend me twenty cents," she said. "I am sick and have to go to the doctor, and it costs twenty cents. If I get well, you'll get your money back. If I die, you get nothing."

Tante gave her the two ten-cent pieces and forgot all about it. I don't think she had expected to see them again. But there she was mistaken. Just a few weeks afterwards Zikokiwe brought the money. Tante thought it psychologically right to accept it. In its stead she would rather give her something else that she needed.

Now a long time passed before we saw her. Then one day she stood out-side again, cheerful as usual. Smilingly she told us that she had attended Manqele's "classes" and learnt about Jesus, and it had been decided that she was to be baptized. She had got herself a white dress, but she needed a white petticoat. It was

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a great pleasure to me to give her this little garment for her baptismal day.

When she was baptized she chose the lovely new name of Sindisiwe, which means "the one who is saved", "the one who is redeemed". And she certainly was saved and more radiantly happy than ever. Nevertheless she still sometimes came and sat down quietly on the floor. If I asked how things were, the gentle reply was:

"We have no food at home."

When times were better in her household, she would bring me a little gift. It might be a pumpkin or some sweet potatoes. It moved me, since I knew how little she had.

Sindisiwe has grown old, she too, and never has she been as thin and small as now, but her Christian joy is greater than ever. I no longer live at Eshowe, but she still visits my old house, where my daughter-in-law Karen is very good to her - as she is to many other visitors she has "in-herited" from me.

- - -

One of those who had a miserably difficult life was my friend Kris-tina. The first time I saw her she was a good-looking Zulu woman who came to our house in Eshowe to buy fruit. She bought some oranges at a reason-able price which she hawked in the town making a few cents on the deal. She would also help me with the ironing.

Kristina was a Christian and belonged to a little Anglican Church a few kilometres outside Eshowe. She had

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a Bible and could read. She had the assurance that she was a child of God.

Gradually I learned her story. She was a widow with two children. Her daughter was married and lived far away, but her son had stayed with her for many years. He worked at Adams', the largest store in Eshowe.

One Sunday evening he was on his way back to the town to be at work on Monday morning; he stopped at the home of some friends who lived on a farm. A quarrel arose, a fight ensued, culminating in his being stabbed with a knife. He was taken to hospital, but his life couldn't be saved.

Kristina had word from his work-place that she could fetch what was owing to him. The boy had been good to his mother, making sure that he took food with him whenever he went home. Now she was left without help.

Kristina had to look for a job. For a while she worked in the laundry of a school hostel. That didn't last long, as the other women there were difficult, she told me. She had other little jobs on and off but none lasted long. No one would pay her when she arrived for work in the middle of the morning and then wanted her pay at three o'clock.

So she came to me and wanted work in my garden. Fair enough; we had a lot of weeding to d0. She would arrive at about nine o'clock, and had to have a cup of tea and a slice of bread before starting work. At about three o'clock she would fetch her day's wages and wander off on the long road home.

After a time I realized that she was confused; she wasn't quite normal. I got Eilif to

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drive me out to the place where she lived. We weren't really allowed to drive into that "black area", but we took a chance.

Here we saw how poor Kristina lived. Her home was a large iron bedstead in the open. Under the bed she had a cooking-pot and a blanket. Short of firewood she had used the hut for fuel, and now only a few sticks of it were left. Undoubtedly they also landed in the fireplace. She had lived like that for a whole year.

I got my old friend, Bjarne Myklegaard, a Norwegian who had worked as a builder for many years, to put up a sturdy hut for her. We equipped it with a padlock, and I gave her a piece of material to serve as a curtain for the window, so passersby wouldn't be able to look in. How thrilled she was!

She gradually became more and more confused, and I realized that she had not been able to keep those earlier jobs because she was quarrelsome; she quarrelled with everyone. One day, in her confused state, she tackled my kitchen-boy and gave him a dressing-down because in her opinion he wasn't working hard enough. I arrived just in time to remove from behind her a big stone she had picked up and held at shoulder height to throw at him.

I had to take him aside to explain that she wasn't right in her head, and he must ignore what she said. He who had good common sense must use it.

Her illness and propensity for quarrelling created new problems continually. Nor was she left in peace in her new home. A brother who lived nearby, tormented her incessantly;

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often she came with scratches and wounds from blows he had dealt her. Once he hit her so hard that he broke her arm, and it had to be set in plaster of Paris.

The neighbourhood children threw stones at her house. They knew she would come and scold them, so this was their way of teasing her. Often she was robbed of most of her belongings. One day the padlock key was mislaid and the door had to be forced open. One thing after the other then dis-appeared. One blanket which she had, she carried on her head wherever she went, otherwise that would soon disappear too.

Kristina came and went. On some days she came to work; on other days to get food. I knew that she had nothing to live on, so I decided to ask the magistrate if she was eligible for a pension.

As she wasn't old enough to qualify, she would have to produce a doctor's certificate declaring her disabled, or too ill to work. We went to the doctor. He examined her and found no reason for her not working for her living.

Back to square one.

Her daughter had two children, a boy who had started school, and a little girl. It is a Zulu custom that the grandmother has the right to have a grandchild stay with her and give her a hand while growing up.

Kristina wanted to take the little one with her, but they took the girl away from her by force, and after that she didn't see her grandchild again.

Poor Kristina. Her Bible she had pulled to pieces bit by bit. The Zulu Anglican priest denied her communion because she was deranged. That's poor judgment for you!

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I moved from Eshowe to Durban and didn't see her for a time, but I know that my daughter-in-law, Karen, was good to her, and gave her food and clothing. The last time I saw Kristina she told me that her house was dilapidated.

Not long after that, she was taken to hospital, and died.

Jesus said: "Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, and not one of them is forgotten before God?.....Fear not, therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows." Luke 12:6-7. Kristina was one of the little sparrows. Her mental derangement didn't prevent God in His great mercy from taking her home to be with Him.

- - -

In an old Zulu hut not far from the station lived an old Christian couple, Titus Cele and his wife. What the wife's name was, I don't know; as far as I was concerned she was just "Titus's wife".

They were regular churchgoers who were pillars of the congregation. Titus often came strolling along to our place to chat to Umfundisi. His back was bent from a long life of working to provide food for himself and his family. Now the children were grown-up but his sons didn't bring him unalloyed joy. The daughter had married a man in the vicinity. She was good to them. One Sunday afternoon a message came from Titus that his wife was ill and requesting Holy Communion. My husband took out the communion elements, and then both of us visited the two old people. The patient lay on a mat near a sunny wall. She preferred to be given communion inside the hut, so she crawled in, taking the mat with her.

We had neither altar table nor altar candles. The walls were black with soot from the open fire-place.

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The floor had been "washed' with cowdung. None of us gave a thought to any of these things, because the Saviour Himself was present. We sang a couple of the well-known and much-loved Zulu hymns before those two received Jesu holy body and blood. The happy smiles on those two old black faces I have never forgotten.

A few days later Titus's wife died, and not long afterwards he himself followed. Their hut fell down, and subsequently the place was cleared to be used as a playground for the school-children.

But I am convinced that among the throng of the redeemed who stand before the throne of God, there are two radiant black faces, two happy souls, saved by grace: Titus and his wife.

- - -

The old Christian women were the very kernel of our congregation. One of them was Agnete Mpanza, a younger sister of Maria Magdalena. She was a widow with six grown-up children. Her little homestead lay next-door to the KwaMondi mission station. She had a daughter called Dina. They became my best friends, those two stalwart Zulu women.

Agnete had struggled hard to give her children a good education. Her husband died while the children were still young, and she had had to work alone in the fields early and late. She had mealies and potatoes, and sold the produce to provide food, clothes and schooling for that large family.

If I remember aright her youngest four attended the teachers' training college at Umpumulo, each in turn. It was brilliant for a self-sacrificing mother to experience such a thing.

Her son Mboneni was a teacher at KwaMondi for a few

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years before he applied to attend the school for priests at Oscarsberg. He and his wife Lisa became a very capable couple in the ministry. Their long-est time of service was in the native Lutheran congregation in Durban. Of all the joys Agnete had in this life, the greatest was undoubtedly that Mboneni became a priest.

One day while he was a boy, his mother had set him to herding the cattle. Some other boys came and got him to go with them to a valley where they could eat berries from a large umdoni tree. This is a purple fruit re-sembling bird-cherries. (It is the cordate water-myrtle. I.G.) His mother saw him run off. "God will reach you," she shouted.

That night Mboneni was so sick that he thought he was dying. He had eaten more than was good for him. Now he prayed to God and promised that if he were allowed to live, he would dedicate his whole life to the Lord's service. This was his conversion, and God was able to use him.

Agnete was my husband's right hand. If on any day he had to go out, he could send for her, and she came and took the confirmation classes for him. Another day it might be the preparation class for baptism. Agnete was just as willing. She was familiar with both the Bible and the catechism, so it was not a problem to her to step into the breach.

Agnete was also keen in the kvinneforening. Altogether she was a Christian personality who left her mark. She didn't ever lay claim to being anything; for this very reason she was great.

The many old women I knew from those first years at KwaMondi, have gone now. Agnete and her daughter Dina as well. Dina's son, Josef Zulu,

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became a priest. He is serving faithfully in one of the large locations, the native suburbs.

- - -

Grandpa Ntuli was a fine old Christian, but it wasn't easy for him to get to church, as his legs were feeble. The Ntulis gave us a good basket as a wedding present, an iqoma, which lasted for many years.

Ntuli was a widower, but was fortunate in having a clever and kind daughter-in-law. Katrina had worked for four years for the missionary nursing sister, Martha Palm, when Martha began the work among the sick at Mahlabatini. There she had learnt a bit about caring for the sick, and so it was she and Grandpa who kept house.

The family of children increased year by year, so when Katrina was in the field working, it was Grandpa who saw to the grandchildren and kept the fire going under the pot. If Katrina called on me, she was given some bana-nas for Grandpa, for he was inordinately fond of them.

When my husband died, I sent Grandpa a blue-and-white-striped shirt, which became something of a treasure to old Ntuli. Subsequently when he took ill and had to stay in bed, he asked his daughter-in-law if she had washed and ironed umfundisi's shirt. He wished to wear it when he went to Jesus, he said.

Katrina told me this after Grandpa Ntuli had died. She had dressed him in the shirt for his burial. Now I am certain that he has received a far finer garment than that blue-striped shirt; he is

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clothed in the white raiment of Christ's righteousness. I am also certain that he has met his umfundisi again.

Now Katrina has also been granted "home leave". Life dealt hard with her, and she didn't reach old age. The oldest daughter, who was a promising and gifted young girl, went off the rails and caused her mother much sorrow. Many prayers were prayed for her, and God, who shows mercy to thousands of generations will perhaps find a way to lead her back to what she learned and believed as a child.

- - -

The youngest two of the children (Kirsten and Nils? I.G.) and I were able to go with my husband to Mahlabatini. He had become the superintendent and was going on a tour of visitation in the sprawling district, together with the missionary on the place, Johan Kjelvei. We had just had a trip to Norway and were seeing for the first time the new station dwelling which had been built while we were away.

The old house was situated at the foot of a hill near the vast Ulundi flats, where King Mpande in his time had trained his soldiers. Now the station had been moved to the top of the Nkonjeni hill, where the lovely big house stood with the most glorious view over the lowland. Up there it was also healthier and better to stay than in the oppressive heat near Ulundi.

The last hill up to Nkonjeni was steep. Kjelvei once said while they were still driving with horse and trap:

"The hill is so steep that the horses in front look like a painting on a wall."

Horse-drawn transport came to an end, but the hill wasn't kind to motorists either. After rain it was so slippery

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that the car would skid every which way, and it was barely possible to get to the top. Now the road has been re-sited and the gradient spread over a longer distance. Besides, the road has long since been given a permanent surface, so everything has improved.

While we were at Nkonjeni, two badly burned patients from a distant outstation were brought in. They were an adult heathen girl and her younger brother. Lightning had struck the hut where they were sleeping; they had only just managed to crawl out. The boy got away with minor burns but the whole of the girl's body was burned except her face. As first aid the burns had been treated with clay soil. Now they brought her to Martha Palm, and we bandaged her together.

When she was in bed that night, I talked to her a little.

"Do you know anything about God?" I asked.

She began to recite the Apostles' Creed and knew all of it: "Ngiya-kholwa kuNkulunkulu. . . ."

I was so amazed that I forgot to ask where she had learnt it. Presumably she had attended the little local school-house where the evangelist preached every Sunday, and had gradually learnt it by heart.

When I went to see her the next morning, she had died. Perhaps God saved her. The Lord knows His own.

- - -

At about the time we returned from our stay in Norway, one of our young priests lost his wife. She had given birth to a son,

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and now left the baby motherless. It was said that the child was at his grandmother's at KwaMondi, and I went to see to him.

When I arrived, both the grannies were with the little child. They were on the point of giving him an enema with a bamboo stick. They took my advice and desisted, but I went home unhappy on the little fellow's behalf. My husband and I then agreed to try to care for him for a while. His father gave us his permission.

The little boy was given the child's cot in our bedroom. Nappies, feeding-bottle and all such necessities we already had in our house. It so happened that a younger sister of the baby's mother was working for me right then, so Alida was able to help care for her little nephew. She learned how to look after him and make his food, all of which undoubtedly stood her in good stead later in life.

The boy was christened and given three names - one Biblical, one Zulu and one English. We generally called him by the last name, Harry. He was a boy who grew and thrived, and on top of it all, disturbed us very seldom at night.

Then the time came for me to have my sixth and last child, and we had to find another solution for Harry. The agreement reached was that Alida should leave our employ, move home to her parents' kraal, and take on the responsibility for Harry there.

Harry grew up and attended school at KwaMondi. When we moved into the town in 1938, we lost contact with several of our old friends, and it was a while before I heard any more about him. The last I heard, was that he was attending the teachers' training college in Vryheid. I

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tried to contact him there, but in vain. His father is now dead, and so are all the relatives I knew.

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NO PROPERTY RIGHTS

A Zulu woman has no right to property. Emelina's story is an example of what can happen. She grew up in a heathen kraal at Mapopoma, an outstation under the Mahlabatini missionary. Her father Mate had three wives and many children. Emelina was the first of them to attend school and to get some knowledge of Christianity. As a young girl she was baptized by the mission-ary priest Johannes Nærö.

Her mother was the next one in Mate's kraal to become a Christian. Subsequently the other wives and the children did, too, one by one. In the end there was only her old father left. It was the missionary priest Martinus Haldorsen who helped him to become a Christian.

There had been a lot of discussion in our mission and in the other missions which worked in Zululand, about what one should do with those who became Christians and had many wives. It was difficult to reach agreement. Many were of the opinion that the Zulu had to send away the wives he had "in excess". However, that would, of course, mean that these would be left entirely to their own devices, without protection and with scant possibi-lities for coping for the rest of their lives. Some of the Zulus who became Christians, chose to postpone baptism until they were old, in order thus to avoid the whole problem. The Biblical

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view of marriage is clear, but there is something unChristian about chasing people away from the possibility of living a decent life, because they are living in conditions which arose while they were still heathen.

Mate was allowed to keep his three wives.

Emelina married Mateo Mkize, and they settled on the American mission station Luwamba, where both were employed in the hospital. Emelina and her husband were diligent people who built themselves a house, acquired movable property and some cattle. They were well off in every way. He was kind, while she was inclined to be impetuous. The other girls at the hospital complained about her and wanted the Matron to chase her away, but then they got their comeuppance.

"Chase Emelina away? Why, she's the only one of you who works!"

Emelina has always been capable and diligent, despite suffering all her life from a painful hip, which causes her to limp quite badly.

Emelina and Mateo's great sorrow was that they had no children. For the Zulus it's a calamity to be childless. To supply this want, they de-cided on adoption. The nursing sisters at the hospital helped them to adopt a little girl, Simangele, and four years later they adopted a second girl, Ketiwe. The children grew and thrived. Great was the joy in the Mkize home. Then the appalling thing happened that Mateo took ill and was admitted to hospital where he died. Not long afterwards his brother came and took away from Emelina everything she owned: the cattle and everything they had acquired for the house, even to the cooking-pots. Nothing could be done about it; according to Zulu custom the man was entirely within his rights.

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At this time our Norwegian missionary colleague, Petrine Solvik, was pensioned after serving in the American mission for many years. She had built herself a little house in Eshowe, and there she took in Emelina and the two children. There they had board and lodging, and Emelina worked for her.

The joy didn't last long there. Petrine Solvik died quite suddenly, and again Emelina was left homeless and penniless. That was when I had the idea that I could employ her. She was capable and faithful, and agreed to move to my place with her children. In actual fact, she wasn't allowed to have her children in a White area, but as long as no one said anything, all went well.

The older girl was ready to start school. She would then have to walk to the large native suburb, the location, which is built beside KwaMondi. The laws governing the separation of Black and White areas were tightened up, and the children had to leave. Emelina sent them far away to a brother in northern Zululand, and that's the way it was for a couple of years. The brother had a large family, and when the drought came and a food shortage, he could no longer keep them.

To get a house built for them at KwaMondi would be the best solution. Eilif and I obtained permits to enter the Black area to negotiate with the local chief. In due course we succeeded in getting a site indicated to us, half-way between KwaMondi and Eshowe, where she could erect a house. We got a native to put up the walls, but it was to be Bjarne Myklegaard who organ-ized the roof and the plastering. It was a big job to get all the materials to the site. They were transported by wheel-barrow all that long way from town.

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A kind neighbour helped us with some bags of cement, and in this way Emelina and the two children acquired a new home. The children walked to school, and Emelina walked to my house to work.

One day she met some friends from Luwamba who told her that now her husband's brother was thinking of going to fetch the children. It goes without saying that he was interested in them because they would bring in lobola, when given in marriage, and that source of income he was not prepared to forgo. Poor Emelina was quite desperate, and just wept.

Together we went to see the magistrate of Eshowe who sent us on to the Melmoth magistrate because Luwamba fell under the latter's jurisdiction. Here we met a very understanding and helpful man. Emelina's brother-in-law was summonsed, and the agreement was reached that she was to have the parental rights to the children if I was of the opinion that she was fit to take care of them. I assured them of this, and with that she obtained the documents to say that the children were legally hers. Her brother-in-law had to sign a renunciation of all rights to them. The question still remains: Will she as a mere woman get lobola for them when they marry?

My next-door neighbour had a servant called Johannes. One day Emelina came and told me that she and Johannes were getting married.

"Then you'll move across to the neighbour's, you too?" I asked. But no, she wouldn't leave me. One of my acquaintances was of the opinion that she was foolish for considering this marriage, an opinion I repeated to her.

"It's all very well for her to talk," said Emelina. "She doesn't know what it's like to bring up two children alone."

They were married in the mission church at KwaMondi, and

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some of their closest friends were present. In the afternoon we had a little reception in my garden.

Johannes moved in with Emelina, and together they came to work every morning each to his respective workplace. Johannes was a kind man. He would probably not have set the Thames on fire, but I had the impression that all went well. They moved into the new house at KwaMondi, and everybody seemed contented.

Unhappily that wasn't the end of Emelina's adversity. While all seemed to be turning out so well, Johannes took ill. He began to be confused, and partially bedridden, and she had to take care of him in addition to her work at our place. In due course, he was admitted to a psychiatric hospital, so she was spared the nursing of him.

The children grew up. Simangele completed primary school. She was a big, fine-looking girl, and learned readily. She wished to continue at school in order to become a teacher or a nurse. But it was a question of money. The Matron at Luwamba, Millicent Haugebak, promised Emelina that she would contribute towards school fees, but then she perished in a dreadful drowning incident. It was then that Bjarne Myklegaard offered to help Simangele. He paid out money for schooling and books for a whole year, and the girl was admitted to the secondary school at Empangeni.

When at the end of the school year she came home for the Christmas holidays she was pregnant. That was the greatest sorrow Emelina could have had, but when a lovely little girl was born, she became the apple of her granny's eye. However, the young mother now has to look for work to help provide the means to sustain life. Further education is out of the question.

Emelina is now working for my daughter-in-law Karen. A neighbour looks after her little grandchild. Her hip complaint is incurable. We have taken her to several doctors. Despite all the adversity she has had in life, she is still smiling and good-tempered.
 
 

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TOWNS IN THE WAKE OF THE MISSION

In many places where missionaries had established mission stations, small villages grew up in the vicinity. This shows how strategically rightly our pioneer missionaries established their work. When the English occupied Zululand after the war in 1879, they placed their administrative centres close to mission stations. This was the case at Eshowe.

Only five kilometres from KwaMondi they established a military camp. Officers brought their families. A hospital, a pharmacy, a post office and a bank were needed. They had to have churches and schools as well. The Methodists and the Anglicans came early; the Catholics somewhat later.

Traders came. Natives were needed as servants and apprentices. Once so much had been started, new immigrants were also needed, people who were qualified builders and artisans. At this time not a few Norwegians came and settled at Eshowe, which subsequently became the most central place in Zululand.

The same development occurred at Empangeni and at Mahlabatini. On the southern side of the Tugela River a little town, Mapumulo, grew up only 2-3 kilometres

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from Umpumulo where Schreuder established his first station.

One of the Norwegian families which settled in Eshowe, was called Loftheim. In earlier years Loftheim had been a seaman. The missionary had contact with that family and visited them off and on. Once he offered to lend them a book of devotions. On a later visit the missionary asked how the husband had liked the book.

"For sure, it was a really good book," came the answer,"I slept so well when I read it." He evidently suffered from insomnia.

The two old Loftheims had the habit of taking a walk down to the gate before dark, he with his stick. One evening when they returned to the house, it seemed that all was not well. They lit the light to look about them.

"There under our bed lay a black Satan in a bheshu," she told people later. The bheshu is the little skin apron the native men originally wore. "'Let's kill him', said I to Father! 'No, we must rather fetch the priest', said he." The Methodist minister was their nearest neighbour.

They managed neither alternative, for the Zulu crawled out from under the bed, held his hand in front of her face, blew out the light and dis-appeared. "I got shivers down my spine," she said.

One night the husband died next to his wife in the bed. She was alone in the house, and couldn't think of what else to do but to lie there until day dawned. "But fancy doing that," said one of the missionaries who was something of a wag. "Oh, I've lain there so many a night with Father," came the reply.

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When her husband was dead, she couldn't stay alone in the house. The Rödseths at KwaMondi let her stay with them. After Ragnhild's passing away, she went to stay with a Norwegian farmer, where she remained until she died.

She had a son called Tor Loftheim. He was an enterprising young man who acquired oxen and waggons and carried on transport-riding between the coast and the Natal hinterland. He earned well, and later built a business in Empangeni village. He died young, and his widow returned to Norway. "Everything Tor touches, succeeds," his mother once said.

Empangeni is now becoming a large town, but on one of the leading business houses one still reads the name "Loftheim" painted in large letters.

The magistrate was the highest government authority in the district. Amongst other things he was responsible for collecting taxes. Once per annum he and his assistants would travel to each of the most densely populated parts of his magisterial district, and pitch camp. The natives were told to come and pay tax, "hut tax", as it was called. The head of each kraal paid tax according to the number of huts he had.

When these family fathers approached the tent where the magistrate was, they would kneel down. There was sometimes a whole queue of tax-payers on their knees. It sounds dreadful to us, but the Zulus didn't see it as a humiliation. Not at that time, at any rate. They were used to approaching their chief in that way. I don't think for a minute that the English magi-strates required them to go down on their knees; it was just that that was the way it was.

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The Zulus have inordinately great respect for anyone of royal descent. I once greeted a prince. Those who were with us, and introduced us, were extremely obsequious. They bowed themselves to the ground and called him umtwana (which means "the child"). You see, he was the child of royalty.

Gradually White businessmen settled among the Blacks as rural traders.

They filled their shelves with coarse woollen blankets and cheap cotton jackets, shirts and trousers. They kept soap, salt and sugar, big and small cooking-pots and other things which the natives needed.

I knew several such traders personally and know that most of them traded according to Christian principles. They were kind and fair towards their customers and became very popular.

All this has changed. The Whites are being "bought out", and the natives carry on the businesses among their own people themselves.

Eshowe is now a beautiful big town with modern buildings and depart-ment stores. There are new residential suburbs with lovely big gardens. The main street in the business centre is very wide, a good thing in this day of motoring. The street was built in the days of the ox-waggon, when it had to be wide enough to turn a waggon drawn by a team of 12-16 oxen.

Schooling for missionary children has always been a problem. Not so many years ago there were many with large families among the American families in Zululand. The children had an adequate choice of schools in Eshowe, but they needed a place to stay. A hostel was built for them. It accepts

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Norwegian children as well. One of their missionaries has the task of caring for them.

In this way the number of Lutherans in the town increased, but the children had to be sent to the Sunday School at the Methodist Church. I think it was the missionary priest Arthur Harstad who first said that we ought to have our own Lutheran Sunday School, and with that the question of holding our own divine services, soon arose. Right there on the spot we had priests and missionaries who could officiate.

So we got our first Lutheran service and our first Lutheran Sunday School started in a humble house of God, a little Zulu church in the town, built by the Schreuder Mission. This became a kind of continuation of the Norwegian services we had had at KwaMondi, but now everything was conducted in English.

Subsequently we rented a room in the Eshowe Town Hall. Gradually we grew into a fairly large congregation. A German woman I had never met before, came to our services. "For twenty years I've lived in Eshowe and thought that I was the only Lutheran here. Why, there's a whole congrega-tion!" said she.

The Town Hall supper-room was used for many functions, often until very late on a Saturday evening. We had movable church furniture which quickly transformed the room into a church. After the service many willing hands helped pack the "church" away. For seven or eight years we worshipped in this way.

Simultaneously we were planning our own Lutheran church in Eshowe. The Missionary priest Ingolf Hodne was the prime mover in this work, supported by missionaries and permanent residents. Through The Lutheran

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World Federation in Switzerland we obtained a loan to build a church, and a beautiful site on the corner of Leigh Street and Dickens Road was purchased. Regrettably, Hodne didn't stay out here long enough to see the splendid church building which was completed by December 1965.

Along the way the German Lutherans, Hermannsburgers, joined in the co-operation, and for the first ten years we had a German theologian, Lothar Müller-Nedeboch, as our priest. He had earlier been a missionary to the Zulus. He preached in English at nine o'clock on Sunday morning and in German an hour and a half later. Now and again we held our English service in the evening.

Helga Solberg, the daughter of a missionary, became our first organist, and our eldest son, Eilif, our first church steward. They still perform these functions.

When the church stood there quite completed, and all the parties were well satisfied, we felt that God had quided us, and He must have all the thanks and the glory.

We had acquired our own church in Eshowe, but the debt was large. And it had to be repaid. The English-speaking part of the congregation were responsible for half the debt and the Germans the other part. We couldn't give up our Mission kvinneforening, because a congregation without mission work soon stagnates. The church would have to have its own kvinne-forening. So we had the "Church group" and the "Mission group".

The groups consisted of the same people by and large, but the work was clearly separated. Ten years after the dedication, the whole debt had been repaid, and the kvinneforening now covers the running expenses, including the priest's stipend.

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ON PENSION AND IN WAR-TIME

In 1938 my husband's official working days were over, and he became a pensioner. We had to move from the station to which both of us had been closely attached for large parts of our life, and we had to look around for a new place to live. It was to our advantage that times were bad; we were able to buy a house in Eshowe for a very reasonable price. (R 1800, I seem to remember. I.G.) The four children whom we still had at school in Durban could be transferred to Eshowe School, and could live at home. Our eldest son, Eilif, had found employment at the railway station of the town, and also lived at home. Ingeborg was at Teacher Training College, 'Maritzburg.

We were given a moving farewell by the Zulu congregation at KwaMondi. They turned up in full force to thank my husband for his long service among their people, all of 44 years. For eleven of those years he had been the Superintendent of the Mission in Natal. We received gifts as tangible tokens of their gratitude. It was a memorable and touching farewell, even though we were moving only a few kilometres away. There would be plenty of opportunities to visit them, and our old Zulu friends soon found their way to our new home in the town. In all the years we lived there, they visited us faithfully, something they continued to do even after my husband died.

The Norwegian congregation also held a party for us,

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where we were given an electric iron, amongst other things. The town had recently built its own power station, and for the first time I was able to use that kind of modern appliance. It was just fantastic!

Besides electricity we had running water in the new house. We acquired a stove with hot-water piping to the bathroom. We were on top of the world! This was luxury we were in no way used to having.

Life as pensioners was an abrupt transition from the hectic toil at KwaMondi. As far as my husband was concerned it was a big loss to become an outsider suddenly. During his long service he had become personally acquainted with every evangelist, yes, every single worker on the field. Now he was out of the picture; he had nothing more to do with it.

His time had to be occupied with other things, and little by little he was given tasks which made his pensioned state meaningful and happy. For a year he taught three evangelists, preparing them for ordination. In the grounds of our home, they occupied an annexe, which we called the office building, and the office itself was "the school-room". It was a pleasure for us to have the three at our house. Saul Mtetwa, Absalon Dhlahla and Ambros Mpanza were ordained in the station church at KwaMondi.

Gardening became one of my husband's favourite occupations. He culti-vated vegetables, pruned fruit trees and otherwise had a lot to do with the fowl-run and a couple of cows we kept. Age took its toll; he couldn't keep at it for as long at a time as before, without going indoors to rest.

We had sold the thirteen-year-old car, and it was therefore too far to go to attend church at KwaMondi,

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so we worshipped in the Methodist Church in the town. It was the closest. The minister there was a very busy man who had several congregations to serve. He asked my husband to take some of the services for him, which was something Aage did gladly. But it took a long time to prepare, as he wasn't used to preaching in English. Zulu was a different matter! (Whenever I was home on holiday he would ask me to help him with his English when he was preparing for a service in the Methodist Church. I.G.)

My husband had a gift for languages. He started learning Zulu when he arrived in this country at age 13. Later on he determined to master the language properly. In conversation with the natives nothing escaped him, even though they have an ability of their own of talking around the subject when explaining - or perhaps explaining something away.

His knowledge of Zulu stood our son Nils in good stead when the latter was studying for the Matriculation examination in Eshowe. It was war-time, and most young teachers were doing military service, resulting in a shortage of teachers. Nils chose Zulu as a subject because his father could give him expert help with it. Nils passed, and he has made good use of his language ability in his work in the Department of Bantu Administration.

Although he was a pensioner, Aage was nevertheless not unemployed. Now and again he was asked to preach at KwaMondi. He would take his bicycle and cycle off despite being over seventy years old, to hold divine service in his old congregation. He also held devotions for the native prisoners in the town jail and for native patients in the hospital. His transport was his bicycle.

He had been a pensioner for just over a year when World War II broke out. A difficult time lay ahead. In 1940 contact with Norway was broken. Only short "Red Cross letters"

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of 25 words could be sent or received. They were strictly censored, to0. Stipends failed to arrive, and many of the younger missionaries had to take secular jobs in order to cope financially, whilst the older ones received help and support from their grown-up children. Later on, the Mission re-ceived financial help through the Norwegian government in exile in London, and from America. The missionaries could again carry on their work more or less as usual.

Our eldest daughters went to work, and we were able to take in board-ers in our large house. A big military camp for training soldiers had been established in Eshowe, and the White officers wanted their wives and child-ren near them. For a time we let accommodation to two such families, which was a good financial help.

Mobilisation orders were issued. There was no conscription in this country, but the majority of those who were fit and could do so, volun-teered for service. Thus it was that Fredrik, Aage and Claus, from "the first family", as well as a lot of other missionaries' sons took part in the World War.

Trygve Borgen and Sven Leisegang were missionary sons who didn't return, while our three sons came away unharmed and in good health. Many of our other friends and acquaintances lost one of their sons in the war.

The missionaries' sons were very useful because they spoke Zulu so well. Several of them went with the Army to North Africa where many South African natives served.

War was accompanied by food shortages. The needs of the Army had priority. It became increasingly difficult to obtain such things as tea, coffee and sugar, even though we lived in the middle of a sugar-growing district with many kilometres

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of sugar plantations on all sides. Cotton piece-goods and crockery were among the things which one couldn't get, so by the end of the war, all we had in the way of tea-cups had no handles!

The situation didn't improve when a stream of Australian servicemen en route for the battle-fields of North Africa and Europe, called here. War operations made it difficult for English servicemen to get home on leave, so they came to South Africa in the first instance, and so we others had to manage as best we could.

Rationing was introduced, as a matter of fact, in a rather strange form. A family could, for example, get a pound of butter per week regard-less of its size, whether there were two members or twelve. We could obtain only unsifted flour. I "sneak-sifted" a little flour until that became strictly forbidden.

At this time it was good to have our garden. The fruit and the vege-tables were a great help in our diet. I was able to grind the soya beans into fine meal and baked cakes of it.

In 1943 it was particularly advantageous, because that year we had two weddings in the family as well as our own Silver Wedding which was on 3 July. On 28 July Liv married Karl Solberg, a missionary's son who had spent two years in the Army in North Africa. On 27 December Ingeborg married Raymond Gorven, a greatgrandson of Daniel Nielsen, a mission assistant in the Norwegian Mission Society in Zululand in the 186Os, and a pioneer in South Africa. Thus the different missionary families are interwoven. Father officiated at both marriage ceremonies in the KwaMondi church where we ourselves had been married.

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At this time when everything was difficult I had been lucky enough to be able to buy several metres of a really nice white material in Durban. It was made up into bridal gowns for the two girls. Liv was able to buy some white sheeting in an Indian shop, enough to make half a dozen sheets. Apart from that some of Mother's equipment had to be given them in order for them to have enough to set up house.

The wedding gifts consisted largely of Woodstone flower vases. That seems to have been the only thing the country had in abundance. Liv was given a tea-set consisting of three cups and saucers. That was brilliant.

Edle and Sigurd Solberg, the parents of my son-in-law Karl, were in Norway on furlough at the time and were cut off from contact with us. They knew nothing of Karl's marriage. Through a contact in Gothenburg I was able to send a letter to them with a picture of the bride. I dared not send a picture of the bridegroom, as he was in the South African army uniform. Mrs. Solberg sent me a few words in return, but we were warned that it could be risky to carry on the correspondence, so I didn't respond.

My husband had often expressed his wish to take a trip to Norway in his old age. He was keen to be present at the Centenary of the NMS in 1942, the year in which he himself would be celebrating his own Golden Jubilee as a missionary priest.

The war put an end to all these hopes and plans. We had to remain where we were, and as we all know, NMS were not able to mark their Centen-ary as they had hoped, either. It is not certain that we could have had a trip in any case. Our children were still not so big that we could have left them for any length of time. The youngest turned 14 in July 1942.

When peace came in 1945, and the Norwegian flag could be hoisted to the top

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with jubilation outside our house at Eshowe, it was too late to think of a trip home to Norway. As it transpired, my husband's life was fast running out.

In August 1945 after the conclusion of peace, there was to be an official ceremony and the awarding of medals in Pretoria, the capital of the country. Among the recipients of medals at that particular investiture was Fredrik, the eldest son. He was awarded the M.B.E., Member of the British Empire. Aage Jr received the same medal on a subsequent occasion.

Parents were invited, and we set off at the expense of the State. Field-Marshall Jan Chr. Smuts himself (generally called General Smuts) presented the awards.

We spent some days with Fredrik and his wife in Pretoria before we caught the train back to Durban. On this journey my husband took ill. We spent a night in Durban, and the next day he felt better, so we continued our journey home to Eshowe. But his head ached the whole time. It was his turn to take the service at KwaMondi, but he had to cancel the appointment. On the Sunday evening the pains worsened, and we sent for the doctor. He diagnosed brain haemorrhage. We realized that the end was near.

On the Tuesday the native priest Mboneni Mpanza brought his mother and some other women from KwaMondi. They knelt at Aage's bedside and prayed for him. He managed to fold his hands on his chest, and I think that he knew them, even though he couldn't say a word. I'm sure that it gladdened his heart that they came, representatives of the nation to which he had dedicated his whole life and all his working strength.

On Thursday 30 August 1945 he went home to God,

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in the presence of his children and his sons-in-law. He was laid to rest in the Norwegian cemetery at KwaMondi, between his first wife Ragnhild and his daughter Helga. The pall-bearers were six of his sons. The whole con-gregation had come to his last resting-place; there was hymn-singing and there were eulogies in Norwegian, English and Zulu.

My husband, Peder Aage Rödseth, lived to be 76 years old. He loved the people among whom he worked, and I believe they loved him, even though he could be strict. He himself was honest and upright in all his conduct and

expected the same of his co-workers, for every one of whom he cared. A teacher's wife once said to me:

"Since I came to know umfundisi Rödseth, I understand better what it means 'to fear and love'".

There was an aching void for us who were left behind, but life had to go on. When he died, the pension was naturally halved, but we had the big house, and by taking in boarders we managed well. Eilif and I stayed on in the house, whereas the others were at work away from home, or else married. Lars was still studying. Tante Maia was renting the little cottage on our property. (She had moved in there in 1943/44.)

As the years passed we felt that the big house was rather too big. The rates increased year by year, and the house was badly in need of repairs. I didn't have money to spend on it; I had to think of selling and acquiring a cheaper place. God sent me a good buyer; I got a good price for the house and I bought another smaller one in Eshowe. Here there was also a large garden with many kinds of fruit trees. We moved there in 1958. My husband's sister, Maria Magdalena Rödseth, moved with us. "Tante Maia" as we called

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her became one of the family after she, as a pensioner, came to live with us.

In many ways she was a very gifted person. In her youth she had train-ed as a teacher and taught in Zululand before she was appointed to teach at Doonside, where she cared for her old parents, at the same time.

Tante Maia was very godly and became a believer while still very young. At all times she had something to give to the cause of the Kingdom of God and something to share with those who were in need. Amongst other things, she supported four children and their mother, who was married to an alcoholic, and another older woman came once a month and was given her regular coin. These are only two examples of her caring disposition.

I am thankful to God for the time it was granted to us to have her with us. It enriched our home.

Her health gradually failed. She had one leg shorter than the other, and towards the end of her life the shorter one became more and more useless. Her last months she mostly stayed in bed. (She had a spell in hospital and was dying, so she asked to be fetched by my mother to die at home. However, in my mother's loving care she lived for about two years longer! I.G.) Her very last days were spent in hospital, where she died peacefully on 1O October 1961. "As a candle goes out", one of the doctors said. We had often talked of death, and I believe she longed to move on.

After "Tante" died, it was Eilif and I who "looked after" each other. He had acquired a car, and we were able to get about quite a lot, both in

South Africa and beyond her borders. When he married in December 1971, I was glad. I had advanced so far in age that I couldn't have managed the house-keeping much longer. I had turned 86 years old when he and Karen were married. So I moved to Durban, in due course, and made my home first with my daughter Kirsten and her husband Victor Brauteseth for a year, and later with Liv and her husband Karl Solberg. I let the newly-weds take over my house. I'm very well cared for in every way, my children surround me with care.

- - -

The heaviest blow which struck me in my old age, cut so deeply into me that it changed my life in many ways: I lost my youngest son Lars.

On New Year's Eve 1962 the American missionary couple Evenson who lived in Eshowe, invited Eilif and me with the entire Lutheran congregation to their spacious home. We had a happy evening of games and fun. At mid-night the Rev. Evenson led us in devotions. The Scripture text was Isaiah 54:10. As he stood in the other part of the diningroom-lounge, it was difficult for me to hear, but I took note of the Scripture reference, and looked it up when I reached home after midnight. I was arrested by verse 13: "All your sons will be taught by the Lord: and great will be your children's peace." NIV

It was a word which gladdened my heart because the children are always in my prayers to God. I felt that this was a specific promise to me about my children, and I thanked God for it. I left my Bible open at that passage and kept re-reading it, and thanking God, because it filled me with joy. This passage supported me when four days later the telephone call came with the terrible news that Lars, aged thirty-four, was dead. "Lars was killed and died without saying a word," came the message. He lost his life at the hands of a robber. Lars had had his work in a firm in Johannesburg where every Friday it was his

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task to fetch money from the bank to pay the native employees.

That particular morning, 4 January 1963, he was coming from the bank at about 1O o'clock. A native chauffeur was driving him. The money lay in a bank bag at his side. Suddenly a car drove up in front of them, and they were forced to stop. Lars opened the door and started to get out to inves-tigate. A gun was pressed into the driver's chest and another man came from behind and shot Lars in his back. Eye witnesses caught him before he could fall to the ground, but he was already dead. The murderer grabbed the bank-bag and disappeared.

At home Lars's pregnant wife Brenda and their two children had Granny Wood spending the day with them. Brenda had had a foreboding of disaster before the shocking news reached her, because a stranger, a newspaper reporter, had telephoned her that morning and had asked if she was "the wife of the late Mr. Rodseth".

"No, my husband is alive. He went to work this morning......."

As she replaced the receiver, doubts assailed her. Not long after-wards, three men drove up her driveway, and she realized that there was something seriously wrong. Lars's boss had brought with him Fredrik, and also her doctor to be present because she was pregnant.

In 1964 when Eilif and I went to Norway for six months Brenda and the three children spent three months at Kveldsro, my brother Arne's home. The children were so delighted with the country where their father had his roots that they wanted to move there for good. So that's the way it was. In 1966 Brenda emigrated and made her home at Wollen, Lyngdal in Southern Norway, and the children are now getting a good education there. In 1967 she married Trygve Ingvaldsen, who built them a lovely house in the village of Lyngdal.

Lars was a clever boy who was still at school when his father died. He passed different examinations, and it was decided that he should become an accountant. He landed in a firm where he realized that the books were not in order. One of the partners was defrauding the other. The wrongdoer

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made sure that Lars was given notice; the other man couldn't believe that there was any truth in Lars's accusations. It wasn't long before the company went bankrupt. After that, Lars was employed by the firm where he was still working when he died.

When the shockingly bad news reached us that Friday, my Bible still lay open at Isaiah 54:13. My eye caught the next verse: "In righteousness you will be established: Tyranny will be far from you; you will have no-thing to fear. Terror will be far removed; it will not come near you." NIV

Precious promises for him who passed away so suddenly, and for us who remained behind.

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AT THE HOME OF THE NDLOVUKAZI

Throughout my many years as a pensioner I've had many opportunities to travel. I've had two trips to Norway and several trips to Rhodesia (Zimba-bwe) and Swaziland. In Swaziland I once had the privilege of an audience with the Swazi Queen, Ndlovukazi, the Great She-Elephant, as she is called. It was like this: In 1969 my beloved youngest brother, Henrik Södal, who lives in Bærum, Oslo, paid me a memorable visit. Our great-niece, Marit Landrö, who was a missionary in Swaziland, invited us to visit her there. It was she who suggested that we try to get an audience with the Queen, which we naturally thought was a very good idea. For a long time she had been wanting to meet the leading lady of the land. Marit is one of those who succeeds in accomplishing what she makes up her mind to do, with the result that we soon had an invitation, albeit it took a couple of detours en route! Marit had a Coloured Christian girl friend whose uncle was one of King Sobhuza's men. The King himself had to give permission for the audience with the Queen, and this was arranged by our contact man.

We were asked why we wished to see the Queen. To this the uncle replied that it was in order to pray for

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her. He himself was a Christian. This was manifestly reason enough.

On the appointed day we set out in Marit's little car. Altogether we were five of us, and none of us a lightweight, but the brave little Volks-wagen managed well.

In every way the visit was a royal experience.

Her immense kraal is situated between the towns of Mbabane and Manzini - an imposing arrangement of huts, a "town" worthy of a queen. The large huts occupied by the Queen and the King's other wives, are surrounded by a circle of several hundred huts inhabited by women, servants, relatives and an unspecified number of children.

This is Lobamba, the headquarters of the Queen of Swaziland.

We drove in on to a spacious courtyard and were shown into a little hall to await the arrival of the Queen. I would estimate that the hall could accommodate about fifty people. It looked rather neglected.

At the inner end of the hall stood a long table with two high-backed chairs behind it. Neither of them had a seat. Next to them stood a couple of smaller chairs which looked as though they were in a usable condition. On both sides there were benches along the walls. We were ushered to seats on one side. The bare floor stretched out in front of us.

After prolonged waiting with rising expectations on our part, the Queen eventually arrived. She was draped in a large white ox-hide, covering her whole body. About her head she had an embroidered band, and around her ankles some beadwork anklets.

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She was barefoot. She appeared to be about sixty years old.

She came trudging up the stone steps into the hall, with a large walking-stick in one hand. Her retinue, five or six young women, came crawling behind her on their knees, and seated themselves meekly in a little cluster lowest down by the door. An older woman attired in a Western style dress followed the Queen right to the front, and seated herself with the latter on the chairs furthest away from us. While this procession was in progress there was rhythmic singing such as we know it from the Zulus. The two nations are closely related, both being Bantu. The younger women were dressed in bright colourful blankets. They had large topknots, artistically constructed, and decorated with beadwork.

The audience could begin.

The King's man was our spokesman. He greeted her in the traditional way. The whole time he called her Ndlovukazi, which can be translated as female elephant or she-elephant. In almost every sentence he used this sub-missive form of address. In his speech he said amongst other things that we were so small in comparison with the Queen that we were hardly even born. Then he read a portion of Scripture, and prayed earnestly for the Queen.

Marit Landrö had brought gifts for the royalty. As far as I can remember they were a towel for the Queen and a velvet cushion for the King. Marit had been forewarned that it was obligatory to bring a gift.

For us visitors to have presented the gifts ourselves

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would have been beyond the pale, but as a King's man our "uncle" presented the gifts to the old woman at the Queen's side. It goes without saying that it would be infra dig for the Queen herself to accept our contribution to the royal chattels.

Not by the slightest mien or sign did the Queen indicate whether she liked the gifts or not. There wasn't a single smile on her lips as long as the audience lasted, and her look was downcast the whole time, and rather griefworn. Every now and again she couldn't help glancing at us who were sitting by the wall. She was perhaps wondering what sort of people we really were. I felt sorry for her, for she is certainly not a free woman. I wonder if she is ever allowed outside the gate. She does indeed need intercession.

I was terribly keen to say something to the Queen, but I was afraid that it would be regarded as a serious breach of etiquette, so I desisted. But at least we were introduced to her, and she was told that my brother came all the way from Norway. We emphasized that we felt proud, and greatly honoured to meet her. My brother would have loved to have taken a picture of the Queen, but we had been told that photographing was not allowed at all.

That was the Swazi Queen - the Elephant-Lady.

The King has assumed absolute power in that little country. No one knows how many wives he has, but the guess is 150. Not all of them live

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in the extensive kraal at Lobamba. The missionaries pity those who are married to him. He contributes nothing at all to their support. They themselves have to work hard to feed themselves and their children. Many Christians try to hide their unmarried daughters from the King. If he catches sight of a beautiful girl, he wants her, and when once a woman has got inside his enclosure, she has no possibility of ever returning to a normal life.

When we came out into the courtyard after the audience, some of the younger women were still standing there. We chatted to them. I asked if we could see their huts. Yes, certainly, with pleasure we could.

The huts stood very close together with narrow paths between them. One of the young women became talkative and friendly. She got hold of a key and unlocked a hut belonging to the King. In it there was a big bed made up in the Western manner. On the wall there was a large picture of the King. I assume that this is where he stays when visiting Lobamba.

While we were there, some schoolgirls in smart uniforms arrived home. They attended a school built especially for the King's children.

- - -

Two of my sons-in-law, Karl Solberg and Victor Brauteseth, and their respective families lived in Zimbabwe (Rhodesia) for over twenty years. Most of their children were born and brought up there. Both were employed in the construction of dams and canals for the cultivation of dry fields. In the course of the years Eilif and I made several trips to visit them. When he took his annual leave, we set off in his car. The journey from Zululand to

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Rhodesia took two to three days, and afforded interesting experiences. The landscape presents the most fantastic variations of plains and strange mountain formations, to which we, who came from undulating Zululand, were wholly unaccustomed.

I have had the chance to see many of Rhodesia's large towns. Fort Victoria (Masvingo) is situated near the remarkable ancient Zimbabwe ruins. Those colossal blocks of rock, and the remains of huge edifices, speak of a highly developed culture, but for the rest, we can but guess. In the town of Bulawayo there is the memorial to Cecil Rhodes, and the cart which transported his body from the railhead to the Nature Park at the Matopos, where, at his own request, he was buried. It was the Empire-builder Rhodes who gave the country its present name. (1977)

The capital Salisbury (Harare) is undoubtedly the most beautiful town in the country. It has numerous magnificent buildings and beautiful park-like areas.

In the west flows the Zambezi River supplying water to the mighty Victoria Falls. We stayed in a hut on the northern bank of the river where one gets the best view of the Falls. This part is now Zambia, and it is difficult of access, if one comes from Rhodesia.

- - -

The missionaries Martin and Margaretha Titlestad also bought them-selves a house in Eshowe when they were pensioned. He died as early as 1941, so after the War we were left behind, two widows, both of whom were longing for a trip to Norway. We organized the relevant documents and in September 1946 a Norwegian fruit freighter took us direct from Port Elizabeth to Bergen. A delightful voyage.

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I had a lot of baggage. In addition to the things I had packed to take home to my own relatives, I had a huge canvas bag full of gifts from Durban friends to take to their respective relatives in Norway. The customs official who boarded the ship in Bergen, an older man, looked very stern. I became quite anxious about the outcome. My worries were needless.

"How long have you been away?" he asked.

"Twenty years."

With a stroke of the pen he crossed off all the baggage, and that was that. I was relieved.

We parted in Bergen; Margaretha went to her people in Oslo, and I continued northwards by coaster to Trondheim, where I was met by my brother John. Again I reached childhood tracts where I had relatives and friends in "every nook and cranny". My parents were gone, but I delighted in meeting my brothers and sisters and their families. My sister Anne arrived from America, and for the last time on this Earth all eight of us were re-

united. It was twenty years since the previous time.

In the autumn of 1947 I set my course southwards again, first to Oslo and from there with Margaretha Titlestad to Stavanger. We were to sail to South Africa with the whale factory-ship the Suderöy of Haugesund. On board were the young missionaries Anne and Arthur Harstad with a little daughter. They were going out for their first term. Erna Wien was also with us; she had had furlough.

The ship sailed via South America to take on oil bunkers; thereafter she was calling at Cape Town before setting her course for the Antarctic. The amusing thing was that

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Margaretha and I were "signed on" as crew. Naturally, therefore, we wanted to make ourselves useful. We helped the galley-hand by washing dishes. The steward needed a helping hand to iron the officers' shirts, and the thick damask table-cloths had tears and holes, which I thought it fun to repair.

We went ashore in Curacao in the Caribbean Sea. It was interesting for us to come to a place which was populated solely by people of colour. The fact that we were taken for Americans and for that reason were looked upon unfavourably, is another matter.

All my life I've had the problems attendant on being blessed with very big feet. It has always been difficult to get shoes large enough for my big "underlings". I decided to try my luck there. I entered a large department store well stocked with a wide range of footwear, but no, they did not have shoes big enough for me. The stout black woman who served me, stood there arms akimbo and surveyed me. Then she burst out, "Do you really believe that there's anyone in this country who has such big feet?"

In Cape Town we bade farewell to the pleasant crew and continued the journey by train, thankful both to God and man for the fine trip we had had.

In 1964 there was again an opportunity to visit the Old Country. I looked forward very much to yet another chance to see my old stamping-grounds. It would undoubtedly be the last time.

Indirectly it was tante Maia who made it financially possible for me.

In the course of the years she had saved some

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money which she left to her siblings' children in her will. As her nephews received their cheques the one after the other sent them to me. I believe that they were thankful that their aunt had been able to live with us for the last years of her life.

The cheques covered the fare.

This time I travelled with Eilif. He hadn't been to Norway since he was seven years old in 1926. We went by air, and it took us as many hours as it had taken us days previously. It's fantastic!

Once again I was able to experience the Norwegian spring-time, see the ice disappear in the rays of the sun, the buds that burst open, the first meadow flowers. How beautiful and dear to me it was to see it again! A long, long life, no matter how good it has been, can not change this fact that the country where I spent my childhood, and where I have my roots, remains closest to my heart.

My sister Guri had died; otherwise they were all there. We had lovely trips in the western country and northwards right to the Lofoten Islands. Six months later we flew back to South Africa, enriched with happy memories.

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A FULL AND BLESSED LIFE

I have tried to avoid giving this little book any political colour, al- though the South African racial policy is in the spotlight these days. However, I'm keen to give a little survey of the situation as I see it after having lived in this country so long and seen so many changes.

When I came to Zululand in 1916, there were good peaceful working conditions for the missionaries. We heard of no discontent among the natives, except perhaps about taxation. They could seek employment where they wished, and travel about in the country at will, like the rest of us.

No one hindered the one who wished to become a Christian. Many of the older Christians couldn't have forgotten what it was like in the days of the Zulu kings, when it was dangerous for a "king's man" to be baptized. No longer was anyone thrown out of a kraal for adopting the new faith. Formerly many people had had to seek refuge on mission stations because their own families wanted nothing to do with them.

The English Government had created peace and secure conditions in the country, and there was also a good

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relationship between the Government and the Mission. The missionaries built schools and started instruction on all stations. They built a teacher training college, and it was approved by the State.

As soon as a primary school had a total of twenty pupils, it could apply to the Government for the teacher's salary. The Education Department had its inspectors who visited schools regularly to control the teaching. The missionaries were responsible for the religious instruction. The relationships between the Government inspectors and the missionaries were of the best, and the educational work grew fast throughout the mission field.

We had the clear impression that the natives appreciated being able to live in peace. I also think that the missionaries pointed out the good things they reckoned that the White Government had brought to the country; they must have known how it had been in the days of the Zulu kings.

The white population increased steadily in Zululand. The many farmers who settled on the coastal plains needed workers. The Black labour force was useful. I believe that by and large the Blacks were treated well by the farmers. They lived in barracks on the farms and received rations and some wages. For the Blacks it was great to be paid; they were not used to having money in their pockets.

Not everybody was equally satisfied with "the mission boys", those who had attended the schools on mission stations. The farmers reckoned that they became more easily disgruntled. However, there were more and more "mission boys" who sought employment, and employers discovered that there were advantages in having boys who could read

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and write. They could be taught to drive tractors; they could take on greater responsibilities.

The Government introduced the rule that all schools should have school gardens. The children were to be taught to use hoes and spades. Some of the teachers suspected that the idea behind it all was to train the children to become useful servants for the White population. When this was later followed by a school law which seemed to point in the same direction, many of the Black teachers found it bitter. One of them was John Albert Luthuli. He became the leader of the political opposition organization, The African National Congress, which saw it as its task to enter into dialogue with the Government, and to be the custodians of the interests of the Blacks.

The ANC was subsequently prohibited, and Luthuli banned. He wasn't allowed to set foot beyond the district where he lived, and besides that he had to live with many other restrictions as well. When he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1961, the Government couldn't for decency's sake refuse to let him travel to Norway to receive it.

The National Party had come to power in 1948, and in 1961 South Africa had become an independent republic after having been a member of the British Commonwealth of Nations since 1910. It soon became apparent that the National Party Government was working towards further separation of the races. As far as possible, the races must live separately, the condition we know from the word apartheid, which later was changed to separate deve-lopment.

The natives had for many years had three White representatives in Parliament and three in the Senate who spoke on their behalf. These were abolished in

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the 1950s, and since then, they have had no spokesman. However, be it said that Mrs. Helen Suzman, who for a long time was the only Progressive Party representative in Parliament, has for over twenty years bravely, but vain-ly, fought against all unreasonable proposed legislation, which could ad-versely affect the natives. One of the laws she has fought against is the Pass Law. This law requires every non-White male in the land to carry a certain identification book, a pass, on his person at all times. The book makes it possible to determine if the bearer is in an area where he is allowed to be. Anyone who does not have the book on him, risks arrest. This law has created much ill-will and bitterness.

It became worse still when a law was promulgated that women also had to carry passes. A whole lot of native women in the Transvaal demonstrated against it. It was these demonstrations which resulted in the dreadful shooting in Sharpeville in March 196O, when 68 people lost their lives.

Many farsighted and warm-hearted men and women have in the course of the years taken the part of the natives in speeches and in print, but to date nothing has made any visible impression on the powers that be. The Institute of Race Relations is a society which has worked for 50 years to create goodwill and understanding among the races. It holds big combined annual meetings in which all races participate, a fact which I believe has helped the Blacks to keep up their courage. They know that they have good friends among the Whites.

The immediate cause of what happened in Soweto outside Johannesburg in June 1976, was that

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the State required that teachers at high schools teach certain subjects through the medium of Afrikaans. Afrikaans is the language of the Boers and the language which thus in the first place is identified with the National Party leaders. The teachers said that they had insufficient knowledge of this language to use it as a teaching medium. It is one thing to speak a foreign language, something else to master it sufficiently to be able to use it as a medium when teaching.

The pupils protested vigorously against Afrikaans. Large classes of semi-adult youth openly demonstrated their dissatisfaction with the new decisions, a fact which led to the police's stepping in. This contributed to rising tempers which boiled over. After all the dissatisfaction and the unrest, all the unfairness they had endured, the language question became the spark which set tempers on fire, the factor which broke their self-control.

Soweto is a large township with about one million inhabitants. One can imagine the despair of all those mothers who sat around in their homes and heard the shooting and saw the pillars of fire rising heavenwards! They knew that their big children were in the thick of it. Many natives returned home from work in Johannesburg to find a member of the family dead. One cannot but admire the older generation's ability to accept the unavoidable and to resign themselves to the inevitable. But the young ones refuse to agree to this; they do not want to be held to be inferior because of a black skin.

There are signs indicating that many people within the ranks of the National Party are beginning to understand that development in this direction can no longer continue. A change must come. At the same time they are fearful, and with reason.

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I cannot stop thinking that if the Government had consulted the natives at the time when Albert Luthuli asked them to do so, many things would have been easier today. "I have knocked on a door, but it hasn't been opened to me", said Luthuli.

Only God knows what will be the solution to the country's problems, but I am certain that many Christians both Black and White, intercede earnestly now for South Africa and its people.

- - -

When I look back on the mission work in which I was privileged to participate in Zululand, I find that it bears the stamp of steady quiet growth. We didn't experience great revivals, but one by one Zulus were won for God, and added to the Church. Year by year the evangelists faithfully brought from their outstations little groups of people prepared by them for baptism. The missionaries catechized the candidates before baptizing them. These were very special occasions in the life of the Church on the mission stations. Everything took place in the presence of the congregation, with the Church full of worshippers.

One of the problems of the missionaries was the question of holding on to the young people. Many were baptized as infants and belonged to the congregation while growing up. Then came the day when they left home and started work, and it could be difficult to remain true to the faith of their childhood.

As far as possible they were assembled and given instruction in confirmation classes. It was here that new teachers and ministers were recruited. In the course of the years many good co-workers came from the confirmation classes. It is strange to me to realize that nearly all the teachers and

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ministers who were young in our day are now at home with God.

Many, many Zulu priests have been educated and have gone into the work in later years. They get their thorough training at the school with the grand name, The Lutheran Theological College, at Umpumul0. They should have the best prerequisites to be good leaders in the independent Lutheran Church of this country. Oh that they might be led of God!

Unfortunately I still have trouble understanding everything when a Zulu preaches. It's too fast for me. It's as the daughter of a Swedish missionary once said: "I understand only Swedish Zulu"! It's about the same with me and my Norwegian Zulu, but I do at least get the gist of the Zulu sermon. It has been a great joy to hear the Zulus preach the Word of God with power and authority. I have heard them speak of the liberty in Christ as I have hardly heard anyone else do. The work of the Mission has borne fruit.

It's not more than 130 years since the blackest heathendom held sway over Zululand. When I see the Christian Church which has grown, I under-stand that all of it is a miracle of God. The first-fruits of the pioneers' work was a young girl by the name of Matenjwase. She was baptized at Umpumulo in 1858. The pioneers sowed with tears, literally. Now we have lived to see an independent church of such dimensions as the pioneers could hardly have dreamt of. And this has come about in spite of many weaknesses in the band of God's servants. But the seed they sowed was the Word about the Cross, and God gave the increase.

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After World War II there were replacements in the band of mission-aries. Those who had kept the work going throughout the war years, were tired after the hard strain. Many of the older ones were pensioned, and the younger ones needed furloughs in Norway.

Relief came in the form of reinforcements in September 1946. Fifteen new missionaries arrived by air and landed in Durban. The work received new life and impetus. I must mention that two of my nieces became missionaries. In 1949 Ingeborg Gravdal, daughter of my sister Magnhild, arrived, and in 1965, my brother John's daughter Ragnhild Södahl, who is now in Swaziland. My sister Magnhild's granddaughter, Marit Landrö, had come to Swaziland before Ragnhild, but not in the NMS.

These post-war years were important in the establishment of the inde-pendent Zulu church, and it also became a hectic time of building. That able builder, Jörgen Nesje, who came out as a missionary, and had the good help of our fellow-countryman, Bjarne Myklegaard, put up new churches on the Empangeni, Esinyamboti and Kangelani mission stations, where the old churches were dilapidated.

At the hospitals new and sorely-needed extensions to the existing buildings were constructed; and at both Ekombe and Nkonjeni hospitals chapels were built. A secondary school for natives was built at a place between Eshowe village and KwaMondi at which latter place Maqamusela Bible School was erected.

All of this seems far back in the past now. The band of missionaries has decreased in number, and is still decreasing. This is undoubtedly as it should be. The natives themselves must continue the work. They them-selves must choose their leaders.

When I look back on my long life I understand more and more how full and blessed it has been, and the main reason is that I was privileged to come here while our Zulu Mission was in the middle of its

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most actively busy period. I got to know so many co-workers, could see their difficulties, but could also feel how much the missionaries really cared about one another, and their congregations. Out on the mission stations each one lived wholly for his work.

It was granted me to share my husband's joys and sorrows. There was sorrow over sin and backsliding, and joy over the new converts added to the congregation. In difficult questions he asked my opinion, so I felt I was of some use. We could discuss problems and approach God together about them. By no means did we always agree, and I soon discovered that he was the one who had experience, and was the wiser of the tw0.

My husband was always incorruptibly honest. He didn't beat about the bush. It could offend others, but I believe that this very attribute engendered trust and respect in the long run. I admired his caring concern for the native co-workers and for the individual in the congregation. If anyone was ill he was on the spot. Anyone who asked for it, received help. He was generous at the same time as he took care of the pennies. He was loyal to all his superiors, both the Mission Society and the authorities of our land. All laws and regulations had to be kept.

Getting to know his parents, Christian and Christiane Rödseth, enriched my life. My father-in-law was a goldsmith by trade, and my mother-in-law was the daughter of a Sörkjosen merchant. Like the other emigrants who arrived at Port Shepstone in 1882, they had had financial difficulties. Old Mr. Rödseth was no farmer, and as a result he produced very little on the small-holding he was allocated. Once he could start a jewellery busi-ness in Durban, the position improved. Subsequently he acquired a son-in-law who was a watchmaker. They shared premises in town.

I had newly arrived in this country when I found my way to this busi-ness to get my clock repaired. An old man with white hair sat behind the counter. I had barely stammered my errand in English before he asked if I was Norwegian. Of course I didn't dream that I would become a member of his family.

Later on the Rödseths settled at Doonside, where they had the most glorious view of the Indian Ocean from the veranda.

My parents-in-law were two devout people who lived by their Bible and devotional books. "Thus far has the Lord helped us", he wrote under his name in my birthday book (I Sam. 7:12). There is no doubt that this verse could have been inscribed as the motto over their lives.

It was he who made our wedding rings. At that time narrow rings were fashionable, to which fact I drew his attention. But then he said: "No, a large specimen of womanhood like you mustn't wear a narrow ring." I am glad of that, because a narrow ring would perhaps have worn out.

Ordinarily he was a man full of fun, and could laugh heartily. One day at a party with many people around the table he said: "The prettiest girl has spilt on her dress." All the girls looked down at their dresses. At that the old man shook with laughter.

His last years he kept himself busy making pieces of jewellery at home, and made different things for family and friends. I was given a gold cross to wear on a chain about

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my neck. It is the piece of jewellery that I have appreciated most in my life. It has not left my neck since I received it in 1922, except when the chain has gone for repair.

I see it as great riches for the family that we had God-fearing parents and grandparents. God has promised mercy to "a thousand genera-tions". Deut. 7:9. We have not merited it; it is entirely by the goodness and grace of God.

When I attended "middelskolen" in Trondheim at the beginning of the century, a young revivalist preacher came to town. He had spent some time in America and was holding meetings around the country. I attended one of them. I have forgotten the text as well as the name of the preacher, but something he said stuck in my memory. It was an appeal to the individual to go to God in prayer. "Have you your (prayer) closet? Have you an altar?" he asked the gathering pointedly. Matt. 6:6 KJV.

When I got my own home at KwaMondi I felt more strongly than ever that I needed a closet. My husband and I always had our time of prayer together before retiring. It brought us closer to each other and closer to God. Morning prayers at the breakfast table were never neglected. All the same I felt that I must have my time alone with God. It suited me best during the forenoon when the others had gone to the day's activities. My closet and my altar were our little bedroom, where I had the Bible open on the bedside table.

I had to talk to God about my defeats, about my sins of commission and omission, ask for forgiveness, seek comfort and help. Occasionally, I opened

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the Bible at random and was given the very message I needed. I know that this isn't the right way to read the Bible, but it helped me all the same. As a rule I read the Bible systematically, and twice I have read it from cover to cover, but that wasn't until my old age. The Bible is my most precious possession.

On one occasion when I was especially anxious about one of the children, I was given the word in John 11:4O: "Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?" I saw the glory of God, and I have seen it many, many times in the form of answers to prayer - even though often in an entirely different way from the way I had prayed.

I've reached the time to return to dust. When I look back on my life, I believe that it has been granted me to live in His guidance, but I have not been a good, kind Christian. My Father in Heaven has had a lot of trouble bringing me up, something which he isn't finished with as long as I live here. But I believe in the forgiveness of sins for Jesu sake. I can only thank God for His incomprehensible grace.

As an old lady I see all my mistakes most clearly, all my want of good sense and judgment, in dealing with the Blacks as well as my own family. I see all the neglected opportunities which were allowed to pass without my availing myself of them. I see all that I could have done. In her old age my mother once said, "If I were allowed to live my life over again, I would do so much better for all of you." I feel the same. If I could have started afresh, I would have done so many things differently for my Black friends as well as my own family.

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One morning a couple of years ago I had a kind of vision. I saw my sin as a black band reaching right up to my face and I felt the terror of perdition. I said then to God: "You must show me Christ!" Afterwards there came like a soft whisper: "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me." John 14:1.

I think that in this way Satan was allowed to frighten me so salvation in Christ should become even more precious to me. I know that Satan has no part in me.

While we lived at KwaMondi and the children were small, I had a strange dream. I dreamed that I found myself on the veranda of the old Eshowe Hospital. Many people, mostly young, were assembled, and stood or sat about. Suddenly there came a violent earthquake. People screamed in their panic.

I started to walk away from the hospital, when suddenly I was on a big open plain, quite alone. I discovered that it was surrounded by fire.

"Why, this must be the Day of Judgment," I thought. I fell to my knees and looked up towards Heaven. "Then I am coming to you, Jesus," I said.

After this I woke up. The strange thing about the dream was that I had been all alone. Neither husband nor children were in my thoughts, yet I was not afraid.

I believe that this is the way it will be when Death comes. Down here I am encircled by my children's love and care, but Death I have to face alone. But Jesus is with me. In the last stanza of a little song, it says,

Give me support when the enemy tempts me.

Reach me a hand when my eyes grow dim.

Say: "We are going to Paradise!"
 
 

Stå meg bi når fienden frister.

Rekk meg hånd når öyet brister.

Si: "Vi går til Paradis!"